iSee Red
by demondreaming
Summary: Sam's on her last chance. If she messes up with this therapist, she's toast. Cat has a nasty habit of making her therapists retire. Will the two discover a way to solve their problems, and something more? Puckentine!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Neither Victorious or iCarly belong to me, but has that _ever_ stopped me? No, it has not.**

**A/N: Now, as far as I know, this is the _first_ Cat/Sam pairing. Evah!**

**That being said, I've coined the ship name 'Puckentine'.**

**So if by some wild twist of fate this ship ever becomes popular, and that ship name is used, remember, I was the first.**

**A questionable honour, but I'll take what I can get.**

**Oh, and a special thanks to And . Your . Point. She's given me a gift that you can't buy. A hilarious memory that I will treasure forever. EPIC.**

**And to my all twitter friends. I love you most of all, particular group of social media friends.**

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"Well, I've gotta run." I haul myself off Carly's couch, screwing up the FatCake wrapper in my hand and tossing it onto the cushion behind me.

Carly looks at it questioningly before shaking her head and turning her gaze to me. "You're not staying for dinner?"

I shrug helplessly. "Would if I could Carls, but I've got an appointment I legally can't miss."

Understanding blossoms across Carly's face. "Oh. You're still seeing that therapist?"

I nod grimly. "Court ordered."

"Why'd you try to drown that guy in a bowl of jello anyway?"

I shake my head, stooping to scoop up my pack. "You wouldn't understand."

"Thankfully. Well... good luck I guess." Carly calls out as I leave. "And don't talk to any crazy people!

* * *

I push open the heavy wooden door, the smell of the reception area washing over me. Stale coffee and leather. I wave at Heather, the receptionist. Mother of four, divorced, and once went on 'Wheel Of Fortune'. She lost. She immediately looks nervous, tucking her frizzy, mouse-brown hair behind her ears. I don't blame her. She's heard by now about what happened to all the other therapists. But really, they shouldn't have been so damn nosy. Dr. Ruben – the one I'm here to see today, he's the end of the line, and I've only seen him a few times so far. It's part of my deal with the court that I see a therapist once a week, otherwise it's off to juvie. I don't really care either way, but I'm not about to let Carly down like that. She always gets so upset when I'm arrested. And the judge made it pretty clear; I get kicked out by Dr. Ruben, it's behind bars I go. I admit I have a temper problem – and it makes me so angry! People just annoy me, and the easiest way to get them to shut up is to shove something in their mouth. Their own foot, for example. But I'm working on it. I'm _not_ getting kicked out of here. I don't want to see that look of disappointment on Carly's face. I've seen it too many times already.

I throw myself down on the leather lounge, kicking my feet up onto the coffee, a few magazines sliding to the floor. I prop my hands behind my head, jogging a foot impatiently and dislodging a few more magazines. I look at them disdainfully. Waiting for Ruben is pretty damn boring, but I'm not about to _read_. I have _some_ dignity.

I hum impatiently to myself, Heather shooting me occasional, anxious glances. I have no idea how long I've been waiting... how am I supposed to tell time without TV? And they make you switch your phone off too, so I can't even text Carly about how _lame_ this is.

I'm drumming a tattoo on my knees when the door to the reception opens. Red. It's literally the first thing I see, and I find myself hoping that maybe someone has a head wound. That'd be awesome. I sit up, interested – anything to break the tedium. It's a girl, and she looks about my age. It's unusual to see anyone under forty in here who's not prematurely balding or overweight and smelling of cheese. Once you get past the hair, she's actually not too bad to look at. She reminds me of a deer – all wide-eyed and timid. I lean back, bored again. She doesn't look like she's my kind of fun. My kind of fun is usually synonymous with trouble. She speaks quietly to Heather, her voice too soft for me to make out any words, brushing her hair forward nervously. I swat at my stomach as it rumbles... her hair's reminding me of red velvet cupcakes, and I haven't eaten in an hour.

I watch disinterestedly as she walks over, sitting in the first armchair to the left of me. She glances over at me, smiling quickly, and I stare at her. There's this game I play. On the odd occasion someone else is here, I like to look at them and guess why they're here. I mean, you look at me, and it's pretty obvious I'm only here 'cause I have to be. I try to make that as clear as possible. And guessing by her ruby-coloured hair, she's got some problems. I'd say she just did it for attention, but she doesn't look like the attention-seeking type. She looks at me nervously, shifting uncomfortably under my gaze, her eyebrows coming together in confusion. She reminds me a little of Carly... polite, sweet, probably super-nice. I hate that... except in Carly. She's different. I lean forward more... I really can't figure it out. She's pretty, and she looks kinda air-headed... and those people don't _have_ problems. They _are _problems.

I consider letting it go, but I'm _this_ close to actually picking up one of the magazines. "Why are you here?" I say bluntly. I figure, why tiptoe around it... I don't feel like half an hour of small talk to ask one question.

She looks around like she's not sure I'm talking to her. "M-me?" She points at herself.

I smirk at her. "Unless you got an invisible friend."

She shakes her head. Man, she's clueless. She couldn't be here just 'cause she's dumb, could she? 'Cause I don't think they can fix that.

I sigh as we sit in awkward silence. "So... why are you here?"

She bites her lip. "All my other therapists retired."

I frown. "All? How many were there?"

She looks up at me doubtfully, but hey, she's in a therapist's office, she should be used to people asking her personal questions. "Six."

I laugh. That's fantastic. I actually feel a little impressed. She's so fucked up that she's forced her therapists to retire, or at least lie to her. She looks confused, and Heather looks scared. The door to Ruben's office opens, a fat, little man in a filthy singlet shuffling out, looking offended as if my laughter is directed at him. Which it is now.

"Sam? You can come in now." Ruben gestures for me to come in, standing at the door, and I haul myself up gratefully. I thought I was about to die of boredom. The ruby-haired girl stares at me, still confused. Crap, I hope she doesn't make Ruben retire, he's my last chance.

I walk into the office, throwing myself into the chair, trying to look as relaxed as I possibly can. I hate getting questioned, the cops already do it too much. Ruben smiles at me. He's your typical shrink. Middle-aged, tall, bushy eyebrows. He's alright. He's wary... he's smarter than some of the others. "So how are we today, Sam?"

I snort. "Hey Doc, you'd better look out for the red-headed chick out there. She's forced six of you into retirement." I jerk my thumb at the door.

Ruben frowns. "You mean Cat? I'm aware of her history."

I sit up a little, leaning in conspiratorially. "What's with her? Like, what's wrong with her?"

Ruben crosses his legs, tenting his fingers. "Now Sam, you know that's confidential. We're here to talk about you, not about other people."

"Fine. Shoot." I shrug, resigning myself.

"So Sam, I believe we were talking last time about your aggression issues."

I nod, tuning out. There's these cracks that run through his ceiling, and if I look hard enough, I can see pictures. And believe me, I'm looking hard. I can almost see a lion with it's mouth open, and it makes me yawn. Why do they make therapists with these soft, calm voices? They just drone on and on.

"Sam?"

I blink. "My... my mother." I stutter out. It usually works... mostly 'cause it usually is her fault.

Ruben sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a hand. "Sam, why are you here?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Court order. You know that."

"Exactly. Now, I know you think there's nothing wrong with you. That you just do bad things to 'rebel' or to 'be cool'." I fight a smirk from my face. He's so lame. "But the court sent you here for a reason. I believe you do have some issues that you've buried, but I can't help you if you don't open up."

Ugh. Why do therapists always have to think you're hiding something? I do bad stuff 'cause it's fun, 'cause it makes my heart race and makes me feel alive. And 'cause I lose my temper. "What do you want me to say, Doc?"

"Sam, I don't _want_ you to say anything. I'm here to help you work through your problems, but if you don't admit to them, then there's not much I can do."

Fuck. I hate being told stuff like this. I hear the same stuff in school. 'If you don't apply yourself, you'll never amount to anything' and 'You need to listen more in class, instead of just sleeping'. Everyone just blames me for everything. Maybe if they were better at their jobs I'd do better. "Fine, tell me what my problems are."

Ruben smiles with what I think he assumes is gentle compassion. It comes off condescending. "I can't do that Sam. Telling you won't help you. You've got to evaluate the negative things in your life, you've got to ask yourself why you keep ending up in situations like this, and when you do, we can start to work through them. But until then, this is just a waste of time for the both of us."

I let my head drop back. "So until I admit to problems I apparently have, and work through them, I have to keep seeing you."

He nods, making a note in his little book. "Until I'm one hundred percent certain that you've worked through your issues, I can't tell the court that you're satisfactory. So until then, yes, you have to keep seeing me once a week."

I close my eyes for a moment. "Great." I mutter.

The rest of the session runs together, Ruben probing around my mind and trying to loosen something. Unsuccessfully. How am I supposed to work out my problems if he won't even tell me what they are? Not that I have problems... I mean, I do, but they're fine. They're manageable. He stands finally, crossing to the door, and I pull myself up gratefully. "I want you to think about what I've said today Sam."

I nod tightly. Christ I hate this.

She's still out there, the red-headed girl... Cat or whatever. She's been waiting here the whole time. Does she really have nothing better to do than to show up an hour early to her therapist? I'd feel a little sorry for her, you know, being so pathetic, but she's here voluntarily. I assume. She waves to me as I leave, and I shake my head, Heather calling out a tentative and relieved goodbye. Sometimes I regret shoving that guy's head into that bowl of jello. But not often. I check the time on my phone... maybe I can still get over to Carly's and forget about this stupid stuff. Or maybe Carly can tell me what my problems are. I can't keep coming here. It's going to drive me insane.

**A/N: Ha ha! I ended with a joke. Sort of.**

**Now, I bet you're wondering, how in the heck did Cat get to Seattle? She lives in Hollywood!**

**...Then you're the same as me about halfway through this chapter.**

**But it WILL be explained. Just... just hold on there.**

**And please, I beg you harder than I've ever begged, and I've begged for money in Africa. How did I get there? That'll also be explained later.**

**But please, please, please review. As far as I know, I'm a pioneer in this ship, and I'd like to know that I'm sailing it in the right direction.**

**So onward, _S.S. Puckentine_!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Neither show is mine, but I've written enough for them :|**

"Carly, what's my problem?"

Carly looks up from her magazine from where she's seated on her chaise. "Hm?"

I'm stretched out on her bed, my head hanging upside down over the edge. I like lying this way. It feels different. I like to be a rebel in even this, plus it makes my head swim quite nicely. I slide a little further off the bed, stretching my spine out exquisitely. Ah. It feels good to stretch. "What's my problem?"

Carly turns, looking over at me. She giggles, "Well, you're upside down for one."

I halt my graceful slide off the bed, scooting back up and rolling onto my stomach. "Besides that."

Carly looks at me curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Ruben thinks I have problems."

I shift to the side as Carly stands, crossing to the bed and sitting beside me. "What problems?"

I shrug, rolling onto my side to face her. "He won't tell me."

Carly frowns. "But... he's your therapist... how else are you supposed to know?"

I sit up a little. "I know, right? But he won't tell me. He's all 'Errr, you have to figure out your own problems, I can't just tell you hurr.'." Carly giggles, pushing me in the shoulder. I grin back at her. "So, tell me Carls..." I wipe the grin off my face, looking at her seriously. "What's my problem?"

She grins. "Maybe it's that you have to see a therapist." I roll my eyes at her. "Seriously though?"

I nod, gesturing for her to continue.

She raises an eyebrow at me. "You could try breaking the law a little less."

"Carls, I already know that. I'm not_ stoopid_!"

"And there's your sass." She says wryly.

I frown, looking behind me.

"No, Sam your _sass_." She giggles. "You're always... mouthing off, talking back."

I nod thoughtfully. "So you're saying that if I see someone acting like a complete nub I shouldn't say anything?"

She nods. "Exactly."

I stroke my chin. "Interesting theory Carls. You did good!" I check my phone, rolling off the bed. "Good work kid, now let's see if it pays off."

"Let me know how it goes."

I nod, grabbing my bag. "Sure thing Cupcake."

I hate monotony. And that's exactly what this is. Same time every week, same office, same magazines, same Heather saying a stuttering greeting and telling me to sit down. I hate it. I don't even know why I bother getting here early, I never get in on time. I just... I don't wanna fuck this up.

There's something, at least, that breaks the monotony, although if it happens every week, it could easily become part of it. The red velvet haired girl is back, opening the door meekly. Her voice is so soft, so girl-y... it bugs the hell out of me. She hesitates when she sees me, before going and sitting in the same chair as before. I think about what Carly said... maybe I shouldn't antagonise her. But then, Carly didn't realise how boring this place is. I'll... _try_ to be nice. Better than kicking magazines off the table and toying with my switched off phone like usual. I sit up, turning towards her and leaning forward. "You're... Cat, right?"

She looks surprised, nodding.

"I'm Sam."

Her eyes widen, a hand flying to her mouth. "You _are_ Sam!"

I frown. "Yeah..."

She giggles. "From iCarly! Oh, you're so much shorter in person."

Don't do it Sam. _Try_ to follow Carly's advice. Dammit, she's the same height as me! Who is she calling short? "Mmm. How 'bout that?" I say through gritted teeth.

"Me and my friends back in Hollywood used to watch you guys _all _the time!"

I raise an eyebrow. "Hollywood?"

She nods enthusiastically. "Yeah, but then I came here because..." She trails off, her smile fading. "Because... I... my parents... wanted to."

She's lying. And she's not doing a very good job. I know enough about lying to tell. It's interesting, to see her sudden change in mood. It's better than reading a magazine, anyway.

Introductions out of the way, I decide to get to what's bugging me. "Why are you here so early?"

She frowns. "What do you mean?"

It's like wading through a swamp. She's obviously not the sharpest tool in the shed, and that's coming from me. No, try to be nice. Carly had a point. I just didn't think it would so hard this early. "I mean, you go in after me. Why do you get here an hour early?"

Cat frowns, picking at a bracelet on her wrist. "It's just the time I get dropped off. I mean... I told them it wasn't until later, but... they didn't listen."

I think I have a lot in common with those people, because I'm close to not listening myself. I lean back, swinging my feet up onto the coffee table again. "What's with your hair?" I say bluntly. I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to satisfy the court and try to do it with as little boredom as possible.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She bursts out, looking upset.

I blink. I wasn't expecting that reaction. "I... I just meant it's an odd colour." Dammit. That took me by surprise. What the fuck is wrong with her?

She brushes her ruby hair forward, calming down with a quick smile. "Oh. I just liked it. I like red velvet cupcakes, so I thought I'd make my hair that colour too... but it still tastes like hair."

"Yeah..." I eye her doubtfully. I think her hair colour is the least of her problems now. I think there must be something loose inside her brain, because normal people don't skew all over the place like this. I glance over at Ruben's door. I'm actually sort of worried that she'll cause him to retire as well. I've barely spent ten minutes with her and she's already driving me mad. Heh. At least I'm in the right place.

Ruben's door opens finally. God knows I've been willing it too. As his client leaves, grunting to Heather on the way out, I stand, practically springing to my feet. He gestures to Cat, motioning her over. Dammit. I watch curiously as he chats briefly to her. She might have problems, but she's interesting to watch. Her face is an open book, and it's telling a tragedy. Her eyebrows turn up, her eyes growing wide. She looks so lost, so confused... so disconnected, her stare blank like Ruben isn't even there. I strain my ears, trying to hear what's got her so upset. It could well just be nothing. He could just be saying it's going to rain later or something... it is Seattle after all. She put me off balance with her reaction. I hate being off balance.

Still, I'm surprised to feel myself feeling a little sorry for her. She walks slowly back over to her chair, the bounce gone from her step, sitting down absentmindedly. Whatever he said to her, it crushed her. She reminds me of a little kid that hasn't learned how to behave in public, that hasn't learned to hide their emotions.

"Sam?" I tear my gaze from her despondent form, edging past Ruben into the office. I sit down heavily with a sigh. I just wanna get this over with. Ruben sits opposite me with one of those sounds old people make... like it's an effort to do anything. "So Sam, how have you done?"

"Oh, yeah... good... great." I try to nod convincingly. "I sass people too much."

Ruben's eyebrows furrow. "Sass?"

"Yeah. Talk back... argue... insult."

He nods, scribbling something in his notepad. Thanks Carls. "Mhm. So why do you think you do that Sam?"

A muscle under my eye twitches. What? Fuck. I didn't... how didn't I see this coming? "B-because people are idiots." I stammer, my mind racing.

He nods, his pen scribbling away. It's irritating... I want to know what he finds so fascinating, what words he's writing about me to show to the judge. "And they're idiots because?"

"They... say stupid things, do dumb stuff."

"And you feel compelled to tell them that?"

I twist my mouth. "Well... yeah."

"And why is that?"

Damn. I'm off balance again. "Because it's fun. They should know."

"Why is it fun, Sam?" He looks up at me when I don't respond. "Sam?" I lick my lips, mouth dry. I... I don't know. "Is it because it gives you a sense of power Sam? Does it make you feel smarter than them?"

I swallow hard. "I... I don't want to talk about this."

He makes another note, and I feel another rush of frustration. Damn it Carly! He backs off after that, but I'm still shaken. I hate being questioned, being torn apart. It's where I would've threatened my other therapists, pinned them to the ground, but I can't do that with him. I need to tell him the truth, and I don't know what it is. But I can't just close up like I'd like to. He has to report me making _some_ progress, and he's too smart to be fooled with lies. Fuck.

I get up eagerly at the end. I just... I want to forget and pretend like this whole thing never happened. Ruben ushers me out, speaking softly to Cat who's still sitting where she was when I went in, in exactly the same pose. He tells her he'll only be a moment, that he's got some notes to finish. Notes about me, I know. Dammit. His door closes softly, and I take the chance to raise a hand to my forehead, sighing. I flinch as something lightly brushes my arm. God. It's Cat, looking at me curiously. How did she get over here so quickly? I didn't even hear her. She's really starting to bug me, and this is the last thing I need. "What do you want?" I snap at her.

She cringes, but she doesn't move away. "I just... thought you looked upset." She says softly.

I move a couple of steps away from her. She's standing too close. "Yeah, well, I'm fine, okay?"

She gives a small nod. "Okay."

I push past her leaving quickly. Today's been... it's been awful. As fun as it was to hang with Carly, I think it's time to go and sass her. It'll make me feel better.

**A/N: Oh you! You there! With the face and the clothes... can you help me?**

**I need your opinion... you see, I wrote this story and...**

**You should totally review, like OMG so much.**

**It's like if you hugged a duck and you loved it so much you couldn't express it, and then it swallowed your earring. Just think about how that feels... that's how reviewing feels. DO IT!**

"**Oh duck, I liked that earring! It's okay, I still love you." 3 :3**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Victorious and iCarly are owned by the same person. The same person who isn't me...**

I blink tiredly, pulling a Fat Cake out of my locker. Maybe it'll perk me up. It's school... it just bores me so much. Honestly, if Carly wasn't here, I'd be passed out. There's still a good chance I will be. I shut the door to my locker, struggling with the Fat Cake wrapper. Carly's talking to Freddie about math or something. I don't know, I hear equations and I just... tune out.

Carly turns to me, "Hey Sam, did you get the homework?"

I stare blankly at her, my mouth full of Fat Cake. "Wha-?"

She rolls her eyes. I shrug, leaning against my locker with a content sigh. Fat Cakes. So good. I open my eyes again, spluttering on crumbs when I see red hair. Fuck. What the fuck is she doing here? I almost have to check around me to make sure that I'm not in Ruben's office. Maybe I really am crazy. I put a hand to my throat, coughing. Carly looks over in concern, "Sam? What's wrong?"

Freddie smirks. "Maybe she forgot to chew again."

I swallow hard, coughing again and managing to croak, "Shut it Fredbag." I straighten, wiping my mouth. "It's just... that girl... uh, she..."

Carly looks where I'm gesturing, her eyes widening. "The one with the hair?" Her eyebrows furrow, "You know her?"

I grimace. "Sort of... she... we both see Ruben."

Carly's eyes widen. "Oh. Is she...?"

"Crazy? Yeah."

Carly purses her lips, looking over at where Cat is standing, shifting uncertainly, twisting a coil of red velvet hair around a finger." Aww." Carly says softly, her eyebrows turning up. "She looks so lost. We should go talk to her."

I regret taking another bite of the Fat Cake, as I struggle to speak through a mouthful of the sugary snack, crumbs spewing from my mouth. It's too late, Carly's already headed over to her, waving. Fuck. Sometimes... sometimes I wish Carly wasn't so nice. Then I wouldn't have to put up with so many nubs. I follow Carly reluctantly, shouldering Freddie out of the way. At least I can take my frustration out on him.

A smile spreads on Cat's face, her eyebrows unknitting as she sees us. Her eyes flick straight to me. "Hi Sam!" I grunt, forcing a smile that comes out more like a grimace. "Oh, and you're Carly!"

Carly nods, her smile natural and unforced. "Yeah, and this is Freddie. Sam told us she... knows you."

Cat's smile flickers for a moment before lighting up again. "Mhm." She opens her mouth, taking a deep breath like she's about to say more, but she doesn't... she just... she's so infuriating.

"So what are you doing here?" I say bluntly, Carly frowning at me.

Cat looks around, shifting her pack on her shoulder. "This is my first day. I... I go to school here now." She says it strangely, like she's trying to convince herself, her voice unsure and faltering. Great. She goes to school here. Fantastic.

Carly smiles at her again. "Oh, well, don't worry, me, Sam and Freddie will show you around."

I cringe inwardly. "Yeah, stick with us and you'll be fine." Says Freddie. I hate them both. I hate them both so much. Why do they do this to me? Why do they make me put up with these people? I know, I know, it's because they're both nice people and blah. Doesn't mean I have to like it. I take another disgruntled bite of my Fat Cake as Carly and Freddie talk to Cat. At least my Fat Cake is still good.

* * *

–

"So you used to go to a Performing Arts school in Hollywood? That's awesome!" Carly exclaims, stabbing into a lettuce leaf with her fork.

Cat takes a small bite of her sandwich. "Mhm." She swallows. "It was so pretty. There were murals and art everywhere, and people danced and my friends... they... um," Cat twists her mouth, her mood changed again. I've been watching her... it's been a couple of hours since Carly unfortunately volunteered to show Cat around, and it's... she's fascinating. Annoying, yes, but... you can see everything she's feeling. And she feels so much. The stupidest things can upset her, and you can see it so clearly, and watch it melt away. She's like a child, so wide-eyed and innocent. Her, Carly and Freddie have just clicked. They're all so nice to each other... it makes me sick.

I pick at my fries, playing with them sullenly. This is so lame. I know that if I tell Cat to buzz off, Carly's just gonna get mad at me. I hate it when she's mad at me, she doesn't let me eat her food. I freeze as a hand brushes over my hair, stroking lightly. A muscle under my eye twitches, my voice low and terse. "What are you doing?"

Cat giggles, taking her hand back. "Your hair is so pretty."

Carly's looking between us nervously, her eyes pleading me. Freddie looks like he's about to bolt, hands tensed against the table. They all expect me to explode... except for Cat, who seems blissfully unaware to the sudden change in mood. It's ironic really, for someone who goes through so many moods so quickly, she sure is oblivious to other people's. I take a deep, shuddering breath, dropping my french fry. Freddie flinches.

Cat seems to catch on finally, her eyebrows turning up. "Did I do something wrong?"

Carly's eyes pin me, silencing me before turning to Cat, a reassuring smile on her face. "No, no, Sam's just crabby when... well, Sam's just crabby."

Cat giggles. "Hee, crabby." She pinches her fingers together in a pincer-like motion.

I feel a smile almost flicker at my lips, my eyebrows dipping down. What? I cram a handful of french fries into my mouth, scowling. I chew furiously, trying to ignore what just happened. Okay, so... it was kind of cute, what she did. But it was stupid...

Carly tries to change the subject, touching the back of Cat's hand lightly. "So why'd you move here?"

I drop the fries I'm holding, peering intently at Cat. This... this light in her eyes just... it's like they switched off. Her smile is forced, sad. I know because I've forced enough myself. Cat licks her lips, her eyes still blank. "My parents wanted to move here. They... like the weather better."

She's lying. No one moves to Seattle for the weather. All it does is rain. I narrow my eyes. She confuses me... she's so apparently open, but... she's hiding something with this, she's hiding the reason she came here. I hate not knowing things... except when it comes to not knowing things about school... I'm fine with that. Preferable, really. She's like an optical illusion or a car crash or something. She makes me feel dizzy and a little sick, but there's something... fascinating about her. I look away from her, pulling out my phone, grease and salt smearing the screen. It's not worth it. There probably isn't anything under the surface. She's either deceptively shallow or deceptively deep, and I don't really give a fuck as to find out. Let Carly handle that if she really wants to. The bell rings, and I push myself up wearily. At least I won't have to put up with Cat in class. Carly stands too, smiling again at Cat. "You can sit with us if you want." That muscle under my eye twitches again. Goddammit.

Cat ends up sitting at the desk beside me. Maybe I can just ignore her...

"Sam? Hey, Sam!" She whispers. So much for that plan.

I tear my gaze away from the teacher, who I've been pretending to listen to. "What?" I make sure my voice is annoyed, but it doesn't seem to deter her. She smiles at me... why? Why is she smiling? Everyone else... they're scared, they quail, they quiver, they flinch. Even Carly draws back a little when she sees I'm pissed. But Cat... she's just oblivious, just smiling at me stupidly.

"Do you have a pen? I lost mine..."

I grit my teeth, handing her my pen. It's not like I'm going to use it. The only time I ever do in class is when I draw caricatures of the teachers to show Carly later. I was tempted to draw one of Cat, but... what can I really do? Make her eyes even bigger? Make her look even cuter? What's the point of that?

I jog my foot under the table impatiently, daydreaming. After school, I'm gonna go to Carly's and just... dive into a big pile of ham. Or turkey. Or chicken wings. Good thing about Spencer is, he loves meat too, and he keeps a good variety. I've made it quite clear what would happen if he didn't. Well, I've eaten everything else in his fridge. And some wax fruit. It wasn't that bad, actually.

I rub my fingers absentmindedly over my name, which I've carved in the desk. It feels kind of nice... not just on my fingertips, but the knowledge that I've permanently defaced school property. Made my mark, literally. I lean back in my seat, glancing over at Cat. She's staring with wide eyes at the teacher, her lips slightly parted. The lights are on... but I'm pretty sure there's no one home. I smirk to myself. I can't insult her in real life... not while Carly's around anyway, but I can as much I want in my head.

The bell rings finally, jolting me awake, and I haul myself to my feet, ready to trudge to the next class. A tug on my sleeve stops me. Dammit. Sure enough, it's Cat's hand holding my sleeve, fingertips brushing my arm. "What?" I almost snarl, trying to hide some of my annoyance. Carly's on her way over, and Cat seems like the tattletale type. Cat takes my wrist, and I'm too dumbfounded to pull it out her grip. She unclasps my fist, her fingers gentle. I'm staring at her, frozen. No one... no one just touches me. I have a reputation, and it's well deserved. Cat places the pen in my palm, her fingers covering mine and closing my hand.

She smiles at me brightly. "You almost forgot!" Cat lets go of my wrist, giggling and brushing past me. My knuckles are white as I grip the pen tightly, staring after her. She... I just... _Dammit_. I twitch a little... I just wanna go after her and shove this pen right up her-

"Sam. Be nice."

My hand relaxes, and I lower it, letting out a breath. "I am being nice. And it's killing me."

Carly raises an eyebrow at me, pursing her lips. "Come on Sam, she's sweet."

I stare blankly at Carly. "I hate sweet." Carly gives me a look and I roll my eyes. "You know you're the exception."

A smile spreads across Carly's face, and she shakes her head at me, moving past me. Freddie does too, glancing at me and murmuring. "Well I thought she was cute."

"Shut up Fredbag." I follow them out. Great. If anyone else but Carly asked me to be nice, I'd laugh in their face. But it's Carly. Dammit. I don't have a choice.

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, I... I suck, basically.**

**So... I know I'm taking things slow, but... I'm building relationships, so... pay attention to them, 'kay?**

**Foundations are being built, and everything is important.**

**So please review and keep this ship floating. Or we'll all get scurvy... your reviews are oranges and limes, 'kay?**

**And I'm feeling fruity ^-^**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Sometimes, I forget what I'm doing. Like now...what is this, anyway?**

I fix my sandwich with relish. Literally, relish. It's a good thing I always carry some in my backpack, it's just what this sandwich needs. I rifle through the Shays' fridge, pulling out a bottle of diet root beer and slamming the lid off on the counter. I look up to see Carly staring at me, arms crossed. "What?"

She tilts her head. "You know that's not good for the counter."

I pout at Carly. "But I'm thirsty..."

She raises her eyebrows at me, "Sam, there's a bottle opener like, right there." She points next to the opened bottle of root beer. Hm. So there is.

"Oh." I shrug, picking up the sandwich in one hand and the root beer in the other and making my way to the couch. I collapse onto it with a grunt, swinging my feet up onto the coffee table and sliding down. Feels good to relax. It's been killing me... this whole... 'being nice' thing. I don't see how Carly does it. How she thinks everyone deserves to be treated nicely. I've tried telling her that most people... well, they suck.

I close my eyes as I bite into the sandwich, groaning with pleasure as the taste floods my mouth. I sense Carly sitting beside me, my jaw working. I open my eyes to see Carly staring at me, shaking her head. She's been doing that a lot today... staring. "Sam... you and your meat... it's a little creepy."

I take a long sip of the root beer, swallowing hard. "Oh really? Shall I mention a certain someone's little... collection?"

Carly's eyes widen. "I told you never to speak of that."

I smirk at her, "I'm speakin' of it."

"So Cat seemed nice." Carly says brightly, her eyes darting to the side.

I take another bite of my sandwich, making a noncommittal sound. "Don't try and change the subject, Carls." She grimaces as little flecks of ham and bread spray from my mouth, but frankly, when she sits that close... she has to be used to it by now. She looks at her arm distastefully, wiping the dark purple sleeve over my jeans. I lick a dab of relish from the corner of my mouth. This. If I could just do this for the rest of my life. Hang out with Carly, and eat meat. It's my greatest ambition.

"I'm just saying."

I roll my eyes. "I know what you're 'just saying'." I swallow hard, taking a swig of the chilly root beer before continuing. "You're just saying that Cat's nice, and sweet, and cute, and I should be friendly."

Carly raises an eyebrow at me. "...I never said she was cute."

I wave the sandwich at her. "Whatever. The point is; nice... it's not really my thing. You know that."

Carly picks at the seam on her jeans, shrugging. "I know... it's just... maybe you should try being nicer sometimes." Her eyes flick up to mine, dark and worried. "I just don't want you going to juvie. You're my best friend Sam, and you always will be. But I just... I wish you didn't do so many bad things. Maybe if you try being nice, you won't get in as much trouble." Carly twists her mouth, her voice quiet. "I don't wanna lose you, y'know?"

I blink, lowering the sandwich. I... I had no idea Carly thought this much about it. I mean, I know she doesn't like me doing bad things, but... I thought it was just 'cause she was a goody-two-shoes. I... I didn't think it was because she was worried about me. "Cupcake, you don't need to worry. I'm not going to juvie."

Carly chews her lip, shaking her head. "You don't get it, do you Sam? This is your last chance. You're not taking this seriously..." She stares at me incredulously. "You broke into Gibby's locker yesterday just to fill it with marbles."

I keep my face stony. It was hilarious, but it's not the time to smile. Carly... she's serious. "Carls, it's not a big deal. I do stuff like that all the time. No one gets hurt." I purse my lips. "Well, not seriously, anyway."

"I get hurt." Carly's looking at me like I've betrayed her, like she doesn't understand why I'm hurting her, and I don't understand it either. "It's like you don't even care."

I hate conversations like this. What can I say? I don't care. I honestly don't care what happens to me. I'll be fine. But... I care about Carly. She's... well, she's been everything to me. She's more of a mother than my real mom, she's a sister, a best friend... she's... she's everything. I do care. More than I should. But I can't... I can't stop doing these bad things. I've tried, but I forget, and then it's just so fun, and I feel so alive, just for that brief moment, I feel... I feel...

I lick my lips slowly, my thoughts slowing down, flickering like the last frames of a projection. I think... I think I have a problem. My fingers press down into the bread, and I open my mouth to tell Carly, to say that I'm sorry, and that I love her, that I didn't realise, and that the doc was right, but it's so hard to put into words, and everything's all jumbled and wants to force itself out at once, and I can't unravel the ball my thoughts have knitted themselves into.

And then the front door is opening, Carly turning to face it as Spencer enters butt-first, wheeling in a cart full of doll's heads. "Hey guys, guess what I found at..." He trails off, looking between us. "Uh..." He smiles sheepishly, sensing the tension, holding a bald doll head with a missing eye up. "Doll head?"

* * *

I slouch my way into the Groovy Smoothie. I've spent most of my life not thinking, and I'm not about to do it now. There's nothing wrong with me. I do bad stuff because it's fun, and that's the only reason. I don't have to do it, I do it because I want to, and I... I don't want to anymore. For Carly. I don't like making her worry, and maybe that means I hide stuff from her, maybe it means I don't share some personal stuff with her, but it's for her own good.

I make my way to a table in the corner, sitting down heavily, and slumping over the table. The Groovy Smoothie isn't the best place for privacy, but at least it's cleaner than home. At least I won't get yelled at here, or bothered. I run a hand through my hair, tangling it in the blonde curls with a sigh and rifling through my pockets with the other. Great. I have exactly no money. No smoothie for me then.

I've prided myself on being fearless, and I am. Give me a math test, I don't care if I fail. Throw a huge jock at me? No sweat. Expired food? Not a problem. There's only one thing I'm scared of, and no one, _no one_ knows. The only thing I'm scared of, the _only_ thing Sam Puckett fears... is losing Carly. And that's why I hate these serious talks with her, that's why I don't tell her some things, don't tell her half the things I actually do. I don't want to give her a reason to pull away from me. She's the only one who's stuck by me, through everything, the only one who... who really cares, and really, I don't give a fuck if no one cares about me, as long as she does. And I'm not gonna fuck that up if I can help it. But that's a pretty big 'if'.

"Hey!" A bright and cheery voice sounds, and I wince, my hand clenching in my hair. Not now, I don't need this now. I just want to be alone.

I raise my head wearily. "Look-" I jump back as a smoothie is thrust in my face, my hand taking it automatically.

Cat smiles at me, chewing on the straw of her own smoothie. "They were having a two-for-the-price -of-two special, so I got it, but then I remembered that I was only one, but then I saw you."

So someone finally fell for T-bo's 'special'. Still, I'm not about to pass up a free smoothie. "I'm not in the mood, okay? Can you just... I don't know, leave?" This girl has been bugging me all day, but somehow I just can't find the effort to insult her. It's just... what's the point? I take a sip of the smoothie, cool liquid flooding my mouth. Strawberry Splat.

"You don't like me, do you?" Cat peers at me curiously, brushing her red velvet hair forward.

I stare at her for a moment. She gets to the point at least. And here was me, thinking she hadn't picked up on it. "No, I don't."

She nods. "It's okay."

I raise an eyebrow. "It's okay?" The girl I've seen fall to pieces over nothing is 'okay'? The girl I've tiptoed around all day until now is 'okay'? The list of things that are wrong with her is growing.

Cat takes a sip of her smoothie, nodding. "No one likes me."

I straighten up off the table more, studying her. She says it like it's a fact, like she's telling me the sky is blue, but it might rain later. "Carly likes you."

A soft smile tugs at the corner of her lips. "I like her too." Cat's eyebrows furrow, and suddenly she's the one studying me, my eyes flicking from her to my smoothie, as if there's something fascinating about the styrofoam. "You really care about her, don't you?"

I shrug, squeezing the cup lightly. "She's my best friend." My eyebrows tug down. "Why am I talking to you?" I can't even summon up the effort to tell her to fuck off. I just... I don't feel like it, and Carly's words are still ringing through my head. Cat tilts her head, her chocolate eyes still running over me, and I shift uncomfortably. They're a lot like Carly's. "What?" I say finally, getting sick of her scrutiny.

Cat purses her lips. "I like you." She says simply, taking a sip of her smoothie.

I admit, I don't know how to interact with people very well. Sure, I talk at them pretty well, but a lot of conversation eludes me. But even I know there's things you don't say. And those things are all that Cat seems to say. I look at her incredulously, swallowing a mouthful of strawberry smoothie. "Why?"

Cat's smile grows wider, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "You remind me of someone I used to know."

And here I was, thinking I was special. "Back in Hollywood?"

Cat nods, toying with her straw, rolling it between her thumb and index finger. "Mhm. We were... friends."

"I'm not your friend."

Cat's smile falters. "I know. But... you're like me." She touches a hand over her heart tentatively, looking at me sincerely. "You don't have something. Something isn't... right, in here."

I narrow my eyes at her, feeling a spur of anger rise in me. How can she presume there's something wrong with me? Why does everyone always fucking assume there's something wrong with me? I'm fine. Everyone always thinks I've been abused, or that I had some huge thing happen to me, or that I'm insecure, or that there must be _some_ reason I act out, _some_ reason I'm such a fuckup. There isn't. It's just me. It's who I am, and I'm so fucking tired of everyone thinking I'm some wounded bird. I actually like that about Briggs. She knows what I am, and she doesn't look for some sob story behind it. "I'm not like you Cat. Don't ever fucking say I'm like _you_." I spit the words out, my hand tightening around the smoothie.

And there goes that light in her, switched off again. It's hard to even explain. It's like blowing a candle out... the light is gone, but you can still see little curls of smoke. You can see where the warmth was, but it's just... snuffed out. It kills whatever anger was in me, because... no one has that reaction. Normal people get angry, they retaliate, they defend themselves, or they walk away. They don't just shut down. It's unnerving.

The smile spreads across Cat's face again, but... it's a smile in name only. There's nothing behind it. It's just a movement of the muscles. "You really do remind me of her." She says softly, fingers tracing over her styrofoam smoothie cup.

"Cat... I'm just having a bad day... I didn't mean..." And I find myself doing something I never do; backpedaling, and I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe it's because my words have never had that effect on someone, maybe it's because of what Carly said, or maybe I'm just... tired.

Cat's eyes study the table intently, and she shrugs slightly. "It's okay. You're not like me. I just thought..." She trails off, shrugging again, and if I look hard... I can see that the flame isn't dead. There's still a flicker, somewhere in her, and I don't know how I can read her this easily, I don't know why she shows so much of herself, why she hasn't learned to hide it.

I look away from her, standing. "Yeah, well, you thought wrong." I say brusquely, moving past her. "Thanks for the smoothie." I stop, swaying hesitantly, looking back at her, her shoulders slumped forward, so reminiscent of my pose earlier. "...I'll see you at school tomorrow." I don't look back as I leave. I just need to get home and sleep. I can't think when I'm sleeping.

**A/N: Hey. I bet you guys thought I was dead.**

**Well, I was. But then they revived me, and here I am. :P**

**I'm pretty sure I'm not a zombie, but I've been biting people just in case. Don't wanna look stupid if it turns out I am, right?**

**Right.**

**So, review, and maybe I won't eat your brains. Unless...that's what you're into, in which case, you may have bigger problems than a zombie fanfic writer threatening/coming onto you.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Hahaha. No. God no. I've never even... no, I don't own either of these shows, silly person.**

I wake up slowly, sprawled over my bed, the blanket twisted around me. My eyes are mostly closed as I stretch out, untangling myself. I let my muscles relax, laying flat on my back, a hand scratching my stomach. I look over to my bedside table, reaching out for my phone, knocking a few empty bottles of root beer off the messy table as I do. I'll pick them up... one day. Maybe. At least they're in good company. I yawn, checking the time on my phone. Huh. I have about five minutes to get to school.

I shrug, sitting up and swinging my legs to the edge of the bed. I stand, rummaging through the clothes strewn on my floor for something wearable. A red shirt catches my eye. Red... I had a dream, I think, with red in it. I stand for a moment, trying to remember it, but it slips out of my grasp, fading fast. I shrug, it was probably about food. Or violence. Both, probably. I tug it on anyway, maybe the colour will help jog my memory. I find a pair of plaid skater shorts that aren't too wrinkled, and begin the long process of putting on my Converse. I figure I'm gonna be late no matter what I do, so what does it matter _how_ late I am? I leave my room, picking my way down the hallway to the front door. Mom's probably here somewhere, but I can't be bothered to look for her. She wouldn't give me a ride to school anyway. I pick up my backpack from where I dropped it by the door, slinging it over my shoulder. The elevator's broken again. Of course.

I get to school just as first period is ending, the halls filling with kids as I reach my locker. At least I'm not as conspicuous now. That's proved wrong when a hand grabs my shoulder. Maybe the red shirt was a wrong idea. Carly's looking at me, frustrated. "Why weren't you here? We had English!"

I shrug, opening my locker. "I already speak English."

"Sam, that's not the point. And where'd you get that coffee?"

"I have coffee?" I lift my hand. Huh, she's right... I _do_ have a cup of coffee. I don't even remember getting that. I squint, reading something written on the lid... huh, I wonder who Frank is? Well, whoever he is, he's not gonna be too awake. I take a sip. Frank has good taste.

Freddie pops out from behind Carly, looking at me in disbelief. "How can you not know you have coffee. You're drinking it!"

I roll my eyes. "Well I know _now_, Fredbag."

I take another sip. I can tell Carly's still pissed at me, just from the way she's standing. Hands on her hips, angry eyebrows. I need a distraction. I widen my eyes mid-sip, pointing. "Hey look, it's Cat!" I exclaim after I swallow the hot liquid. Damn Frank, you must be bummed you missed out on this.

Luckily Carly turns, her arms relaxing, and I feel a burst of relief, taking another long sip of the coffee. This stuff is addictive. Cat turns at the sound of her name, and I choke, the sweet liquid catching in my throat as a burst of memory hits me. I tear the cup away from my lips, spraying out a mouthful of the coffee onto Freddie. Okay, so maybe I could've sprayed it onto the floor, but where's the fun in that.

"Ugh, Sam, ew-" Freddie dabs at his dripping face, a look on disgust underneath the layer of coffee. I think he looks better that way.

I swipe my hand across my mouth, Carly looking at me strangely as Cat approaches us. That megawatt grin spreads across her face as she gets closer, and I feel my stomach lurch, another snippet of memory bursting into my mind. That dream I had... it was about Cat. "Hey you guys!" Cat says exuberantly.

I smile back at her. "Bye."

Carly frowns at me. "Sam."

I shrug. "I've gotta go to the bathroom. I mean, you guys can come with me, or..."

Carly wrinkles her nose, Cat giggling. Another spike of memory stabs into my brain.

"Uh, hold this for me Carls." I shove the cup into her hand. There's no way I'm throwing it out. It's like ambrosia.

Freddie grunts as I toss my pack at him, the bag hitting his stomach as he catches it reflexively. I practically run to the girl's bathroom, ducking into a stall, the lock clicking. Okay. So, I had a dream. About Cat. I put the lid of the toilet down, sitting. Think Puckett, what happened? Was it about you beating her up? Tearing her to shreds, or-

My eyes widen. It's... it was about... hanging out with her. Watching a movie. Eating popcorn, and it was so buttery I can almost.. my stomach rumbles, and I rub it distractedly. It was about... being friends with her? What the fuck? I have Carly, I don't need other friends, and certainly not ones that are as fucked up as Cat. Or as clueless. I mean, sure, she's a lot like Carly, but she's not. She's not Carly. She's a messed up little kid in a teenager's body, who doesn't know what you're not supposed to say, who doesn't understand how life works. You can see that just by looking at her. She thinks the world is all sugar and ponies and crap, even though she doesn't have any friends, even though she sees a fucking therapist. She probably doesn't even think there's anything wrong with her... no, I know that's not true.

"_You're like me. You don't have something. Something isn't... right, in here." _

She knows there's something wrong with her, and I wonder, not for the first time, what it is. She doesn't seem so different from all the other airheads around here. She's bubbly, and bright, and stupid and overly nice like them. I guess something just happened to her. Why else would she have moved here? Who moves _away _from Hollywood?

I sigh, standing. It was just a stupid dream. It doesn't mean anything. Why would I wanna be friends with Cat? She's exactly the kind of goody-two-shoes I hate. My hand pauses on it's path to unlock the door. Maybe the dream wasn't so stupid, maybe it was trying to tell me something. I can't stop doing bad things. I mean, I stole some guy's coffee and I don't even remember doing it. I can't ask Carly... she... I don't want to bother her with that, I don't want her to know that... that I can't stop. But Cat... Cat I barely know. Cat _wants_ to be friends with me, and she'd never do a bad thing in her life. She apologised to a ladybug because she thought she scared it. Maybe she could... teach me how to be good. If I can figure out how she's so... nice, and good, and kind, then maybe I can stop. Maybe I can show Carly that... that I do care about... about being good. About staying out of juvie. I just... I want her to be proud of me. And if that means putting up with Cat for a little while, then... I'm prepared to do that. I mean, I grew up with Melanie, and she's still alive. I swear, it's like we were only meant to be one person, but then we split and she got all the good, and I got all the bad. I'm the evil twin, but... I can pretend to be good. I just have to learn how.

I unlock the stall, exiting the bathroom. I'll play nice with Cat, learn how to be all wide-eyed and good from her. Now if I can just figure out how to deal with Ruben, I'm set.

I make my way to class, the halls empty. Carly's probably already waiting, hopefully still with my coffee. That stuff is... I gotta steal that tomorrow too. I shake my head. I'm missing the point. Cat's gonna get a nice surprise when I get to class. I'm actually going to be nice, not just... tolerate her. Cat's got a friend, just like she wanted.

**A/N: Hey there. It's me.**

**I'm not quite sure how to say this, but...**

**I think I love you. Yes you, the reviewer.**

**Sure, when I was younger, I did some stuff for money, hung around some bad people who never reviewed, but I was just a kid. I didn't understand the phrase, "Reviews not drugs."**

**But I'm so much wiser now, and I realise you can have both, and that's just... **

**think that spider is flipping me off. 0-0 IT TOOK MY WALLET.**

**Okay, maybe just reviews then. That'd be best.**

**So... you know what to do ^_^**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Victorious and iCarly are owned by Dan Schneider, who is currently in the trunk of my car. So... I guess you could say I own them too.**

When I get to class, Freddie's sitting next to Cat, chatting with her. Ugh. I hate how he talks with his hands. I mean, I do it too, but I make it look good. His just looks like the flailing of a sick walrus or something. Carly's sitting behind Freddie, and I scoop the coffee cup off her desk, taking a long sip. Oh baby. Mama missed you.

I sigh contentedly, slipping into the seat on the opposite side of Cat, glancing over at her. She's got a glazed look on her face, nodding at what Freddie is saying. "-And so I said to the guy, 'You call this a hi def hookup? You don't even have the right A/V cables.'" Freddie shakes his head, laughing, Cat laughing too after a beat. I roll my eyes, leaning over to tap Cat on the shoulder. She turns, that smile fixed on her face, her eyes lighting up when she sees it's me. I smile back at her, lips tight.

"Hey, Cat, can you pass me my bag? Fredweird has it."

She nods enthusiastically, reaching over and picking it up, Freddie trailing off midsentence, glaring at me. It's not my fault he's boring Cat. You think he'd be used to it by now. I grab it off her, still smiling. Freddie resumes his conversation with Cat, voice overly casual, hand rubbing the back of his head. He's such a nub. "So anyway, um, I was wondering if you wanna... go grab a smoothie sometime. Or something."

Cat's face lights up. Oh God, she's not actually gonna say yes, is she? She's way too hot for Freddie, but then... any girl is. A lot of guys are too, actually. "You mean like me and Sam had smoothies?"

Carly looks over at me sharply, her eyes questioning. Freddie does too, and fair enough. I don't do anything with anyone. And judging by the way I've acted towards Cat... well, it'd be less surprising if I turned down a ham sandwich. I shrug at the both of them, Cat turning too and grinning at me. My eyebrows furrow. Did Cat not understand that Freddie was asking her out on a date, or... did she think what we did was a date? The fact that she's so messed up that I'm not sure which one is more believable isn't a good sign. I shake my head, butting in. "Sorry Fredbag, Cat and I have plans."

Cat tilts her head at me, bemused. "We do?"

"You do?" Freddie asks suspiciously.

"_You do?_" Carly exclaims, hands gripping the edge of her desk as she leans forward.

I sit back, taking a sip of my coffee and nodding. "We do."

Cat tilts her head at me again before a smile bursts onto her face. "Okay."

"B-but Cat, we were gonna... I mean..." Freddie splutters, looking disappointed. He shoots a glare at me. My smile is actually genuine now. Two birds, one stone. The teacher finally walks in, rubbing his bald head tiredly, his voice emotionless as he starts to talk equations and crap like that. I scribble in my book, pretending to copy the board. I know Carly's gonna ask me about this. I mean, Freddie will too, but that I'm looking forward to. It's gonna be fun antagonising him, but... he couldn't seriously think he had a chance with Cat. Even as fucked up as she is, she's still _way_ out of his league. He's Little League, and Cat's batting in the Big Leagues. Hell, for all I know, they're not even playing the same sport.

Sure enough, Carly takes me aside as the bell rings for lunch, dragging me over to a quiet corner and ignoring the sounds of my rumbling stomach. "Sam... you had smoothies with Cat?"

I nod, leaning against the wall, Carly looking around furtively. I nod. "Yeah, after I left. I went to the Groovy Smoothie and Cat was just... there."

Carly looks at me incredulously, her brow pinched. "But you hate Cat."

I shrug. "You were right Carls, I should give Cat a chance. I should start being nicer. I figured I'd take your advice."

"Yeah, but-" Carly lowers her voice, looking around again. "Yeah, but I meant being nicer to everyone, not just her." She brushes a dark lock of hair out of her face, shifting her backpack on her shoulders.

"Gotta start somewhere." I say nonchalantly. I'd tell Carly about my plan, but she seems to have a problem with me just using people for my own ends. I don't need her thinking less of me. My stomach growls again, and I shift away from Carly slightly. She's almost pressed up against me, and I didn't think it would unnerve her this badly. But then, she's never really seen me be nice to anyone else before. I've been polite to Cat all through our classes. I've smiled when she's talked to me, I've laughed at her jokes, I've nodded at her chattering. And I haven't said one nasty thing... out loud at least. My brain is another place entirely. I've been studying her, trying to understand her chirpiness. If she was any brighter, she'd be a fucking rainbow, and I just don't get it.

Carly's shoulders drop, and she straightens, backing away from me a little. "Uh... good. Good." She nods for emphasis, still looking at me strangely. She's never seen me take her advice before, not when she told me not to eat that expired ham, and not when she told me not to shove that guy's face in jell-o. I kind of regret not following her advice that time.

I stare at her for a moment, waiting for her to lead the way to the cafeteria, which she does after a moment, tugging at the hem of her hoodie. She still seems unsettled, and I wouldn't be surprised if she was suspicious. And she's right to be, because I am up to something. She knows me too well, and that's the problem. I have to change what she thinks about me, I have to prove that I'm not what she thinks I am; someone who can't be good, even for her. I can be, I've just... I've just never wanted to be.

Freddie's chatting to Cat animatedly when we get there, and I look at him scornfully, sitting next to Cat at the white, circular table. "So I do all the technical stuff in iCarly, all the effects and everything." He puffs his chest out, what little he has to puff. I can't believe he's still trying to flirt with her. It's sad really, like watching a giraffe trying to dial a phone. You're not sure why the phone's there, but the giraffe has no idea what it's doing. And I'm not sure why Cat's just sitting there, a smile on her face, head bobbing in agreement. Does she really care? Why isn't she telling him to shut up? Even Carly does when he gets started on all that tech stuff.

It seems like Carly spends the rest of the day watching me, every time I look at Cat, every time I _don't_ snap at something she says, Carly's eyes narrow, like she's waiting for me to just jump over my desk and tackle Cat. And I'm tempted to, certainly. Cat's... she doesn't know when to shut up, because she never _has _shut up. The only silences are when she has to breathe, and I savour every one. My face hurts from smiling, so much it feels more like a grimace. But at least I can take it out on Freddie. The boy's gonna have some bruises by the end of the week.

It's a relief when the bell finally rings and school is over. I just wanna go home and eat bacon in bed. I don't even feel like going to Carly's. Cat's been bugging me so much I can't stand anyone right now. I just... want to be alone. She's got enough thoughts for ten people, and they're all buzzing around in my head. I like simplicity, and Cat's full of corners and loop-de-loops that are impossible to follow.

I slouch my way to my locker, dragging my feet. Cat's expended so much energy today I'm exhausted just from watching her. By the time I get to my locker, Carly's just shutting the door to hers, shifting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. I groan, slumping against the cool metal of my locker, and pressing my cheek to it.

Carly raises an eyebrow. "You okay? School's over, you know."

I take a deep breath, palm pressed against the locker door, bracing myself. "I know. I'm just so tired. I didn't get my nap today."

Carly shakes her head. "Well did you learn anything?"

I push myself off the locker, looking at Carly incredulously. "Carls, it's school, not the street."

She laughs, her coffee-coloured eyes sparkling, and I do not get it. How is everyone so... happy, all the time? Was I ever like that? I frown, finger stroking over the grey-blue metal of the locker. Maybe. But I was a lot younger then, and everything.. everything's sort of faded, a little. Everything's all washed out, except for when I have that adrenalin racing through my veins, when I'm running from the cops, or breaking something. Then everything is vibrant and my heart races. I shake my head. I'm just tired, that's all. I'll probably be just like Carly in the morning. Not like Cat, I could never be like Cat. No one could, the girl's not human.

"Hey, are you coming over this afternoon?"

I turn, leaning back against my locker, tilting my head back. "Nah. I'm gonna go home and study."

A crooked smile tugs at the corner of Carly's pink lips. "You mean sleep?"

I look at her, outraged. "How dare you! I'm gonna eat too." I relax my face, grinning at her, Carly rolling her eyes.

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow then."

I wave goodbye to her, sighing once she's gone and turning to open my locker. The halls are deserted; everyone's gone home, and as I grab a few Fatcakes I've stored in my locker, I think about how good it's gonna be to go home, and just stretch out on my bed with a plate of bacon. I can almost taste it; the salty, greasy bacon, hot in my mouth. I can almost feel the soft pillow against my head, rough cotton under my fingertips. It's gonna be good.

I shut the door to my locker, turning and stifling a curse when I see Cat standing straight in front of, her face inches away from mine. How does she do that? I didn't even hear her, and the girl's not quiet. I let out a held breath, moving back. "Hey Cat."

She grins at me brightly. "Did I scare you?"

I wave a hand at her. "What? No. I just wasn't expecting you to be here... at school... when everyone else has gone home..." I give up trying to drop clues, she's obviously not following them. "Why are you still here?"

Cat brushes her ruby hair forward. "Because you are."

I nod, leaning back against my locker again, arms crossed. I'm waiting for it to make sense, but nope, it's not going to. "What?"

Cat tilts her head at me, eyebrows turning up. "You said we were going to do something."

A muscle under my eye twitches. "I did say that."

Cat nods enthusiastically. "Mhm."

I'm stupid. That's it. All my ideas are stupid. But then I never thought that just spending the day paying attention to Cat would be so exhausting. I can't back out now... I haven't even started yet. I've gotta stick with this, so I can show Carly. So I can be better, and stop seeing that jerkass therapist. We can't go get smoothies again... there's a chance Carly or Freddie might be there. Plus, I kind of don't want to be seen with Cat too much. I still have a reputation, even if I can't reinforce it right now. I can't take her to my place... it's a dump, and I don't want Cat knowing where I live. Just seems like a bad idea. Like I'd wake up one night to see her pressed against the window on my fire escape, rain pouring down and a manic smile on her face. I've woken up to my mom that way a few times... it's not pleasant. I scan Cat, looking over her. She looks rich. Well, not rich, but pretty well-off. She's all clean, and good-smelling, and the necklace with the little heart that's slung around her neck seems like it's real silver. I figure she has to have a nice place... at least as good as Carly's.

"Why don't go to your place, Cat?"

Her shaped eyebrows dip down. "My place?"

"Yeah. We'll watch a movie or something. I can... paint your nails, and... brush your hair." That's what nice people do, isn't it? It seems like something Cat would do. She seems to think so too, grinning excitedly and bouncing on her toes.

"Okay!"

I nod, circling an arm around her shoulders and steering her down the hall, Cat giggling. "You have food, right? And a bed?"

At least I might still be able to eat in bed. That'll make it worth it.

**A/N: Okay, things are happening now. Stuff is going on. Woo! Baby steps, people, that's right, small, wobbly, drunken steps that usually result in crying and bleeding.**

**I was a difficult child.**

**And adult.**

**Anyhow, as always, review and let me know how it's going, even if it's just to say, "OMGSEXNAO."**

**or,**

"**Gee, you sure are a talented lady writer, get in me."**

**Both good.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Please keep your hands and feet inside the Victorious at all times. Please fasten your iCarly, and hold on tight.**

I kick my converse clad feet up on Cat's bed, laying back, a cupcake in my hand. It's my third, and I have to admit, this is pretty sweet. Cat's parents are out, so I don't have to suck up to them and pretend to be good... not that that ever really fools anyone, and it turns out Cat loves candy. It explains some of her restless energy to me, at least. Even Cat's been bearable... or maybe I've just managed to drown her out. Or maybe her room's been screaming at me too much for me to notice. Everything's pastel and floral and like some five year old just went into a toy store and pointed at anything that looked like it barked or squeaked or made some annoying sound. But still, at least if I lie on her bed I don't have to look at the bright, flower-spattered cover.

I take another bite of the cupcake, a hand pillowing my head, threaded through my blonde curls. It's actually going better than I thought. Maybe school was part of what made Cat so annoying... and therapy. I do hate going to both. Or maybe they bring out the worst in her too. Either way, it feels like I can finally relax. I mean, I love hanging out with Carly and all, but lately... it always feels like she's watching me, and I don't know if she's waiting for me to screw up or waiting for me to change, and as much as I deserve her disapproving glances, it still feels nice to be somewhere where I'm not getting them. I don't know if Cat's just stupid, or incredibly naïve, but she looks at me with this light in her eyes, and this smile on her face, and it's... it's almost adoring. I don't get it at all. Carly used to look at me like that too... back when we were kids. She doesn't do it anymore. The stuff I do doesn't impress her anymore, just... disappoints her.

I take another bite out of the cupcake, frosting coating my lips, sugary sweet, and I fight to stop from groaning. Cat's a good cook at least, or her mom is.

"Did you want something to drink?" Cat's hovering over me, hands wringing together, like she's nervous or excited or something.

I nod, tongue darting out to swipe the pink frosting off my lips. "You got rootbeer?" I say thickly, crumbs spraying out.

Cat's face lights out. "Mhm." She nods excitedly. "I'll be right back."

From what I've seen, Cat's parents are pretty well off. Sure, it's an apartment, but it's a nice one. It was all neutral colours and earth tones and expensive furniture with delicate ornaments on them... at least until I reached Cat's room. Then it went from classy, sophisticated urbanite to naptime at the daycare centre.

I pop the last chunk of fluffy cupcake into my mouth, rolling off Cat's bed and looking around. There's plenty of pictures of bunnies on the wall, but none of her friends. Maybe she didn't have any... or maybe she's trying to forget them. And from the looks of it, her only pets are imaginary too, hanging on her wall. It doesn't make sense to me. Sure, she's weird, she's bubbly, and a bit airheaded, but girls like that always have tonnes of friends. Girls like that don't go to therapy. Girls like that don't talk to me, they're too prissy. Plus a raised fist usually takes care of any that do. But Cat... today's the only day that I've been halfway nice to her, she _knows_ that I don't like her, yet she's still fluttering around me like some oblivious butterfly. Everything about her, everything about this flower and puppy strewn room is sweet and innocent, and it confuses the fuck out of me. People like her are deluded, sure... _but they don't go to therapy_. She's a cardboard cutout, she's a stereotype, she's everything I keep expecting, but... there's something else, there's a shadow cast by that cutout, and I can't quite see what shape it makes. I keep getting little glimpses of it, little reminders that she's not quite like Carly, she's not quite like Freddie, and it keeps throwing me off, keeps putting me off balance. Now that I'm trying to be nice, it's hard to know what to say to her. Luckily she seems to do most of the talking. Being nice right now is equating to being quiet, and food's been helping to smother any retorts I'm tempted to make.

I study her white-painted dresser, glancing at my reflection in her mirror briefly, star stickers spangled around the border. It's scattered with jewellery, and I prod an earring with an index finger disinterestedly. It's nice stuff, but I've never been huge on girly things like that. Ruby strands of hair are tangled in her hairbrush, coconut lipgloss strewn beside it. All ordinary, all normal. I lick the fingertips of my opposite hand absently, getting the last traces of frosting off them, tugging open a drawer of the dresser. Underwear. And neatly folded too. How lovely.

"I'm back!" Cat announces brightly as I turn, tongue still pressed to a fingertip. She tilts her head as she takes in the scene before her, icecubes clinking in the glasses of rootbeer she's holding. "What are you doing?"

Carly gets annoyed when I snoop, Freddie gets suspicious, but Cat... she just seems confused. In retrospect, licking my fingers while standing before an open drawer of her underwear was probably a bad idea... I can imagine what it looks like. I'm not sure how to explain... even to myself. Was I looking for something weird? Something to point to this big, dark secret she _must_ have, something to confirm my suspicions, that she's not all sweet and innocent? Was I actually hoping to find something, or was I just bored? I don't even know anymore. I thought it was just from boredom... but I feel disappointed. Maybe I just can't admit to myself that she intrigues me more than I'd like her too.

I try to push the drawer closed as surreptitiously as I can. "You've got really nice jewellery Cat. It's... pretty." I stretch my mouth out into a smile, fingers brushing hers as I take one of the glasses from her, taking a long sip of the icy soda.

Her eyebrows unknit, brow smoothing out. "Thanks." A smile stretches across her face, a hand brushing her hair forward, and I'm reminded why I came here; I need to learn how to be like that... or at least fake it. I need to learn how to be... empty, I guess. I look at her eyes and there's nothing there, just... they're warm, and cheerful. When I look into Carly's I can always see streaks behind them, strikes of thoughts, of worries, see all the thoughts ticking over in her brain. I don't know whether Cat just doesn't have thoughts, or whether she just masks them better. From what I've seen, she's about as deep as a wading pool... but still... I can't see all the way to the bottom. There's just something... _off_ about her, but I don't know what it is.

I shake my head, sitting on the edge of Cat's bed, mattress sinking under me. Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with what I'm here for. I'm only interested in the surface; I can use that, I can learn from that. The rest doesn't matter. I don't like her, I don't wanna get to know her, I just wanna use her. "You've got a nice place here, Cat." _All but your room_.

She looks around before joining me on the bed, sitting too close, her arm brushing mine. Only Carly sits that close, and she's most definitely not Carly. For one thing, she's not drinking diet rootbeer. Cat's tongue runs out over her lips as she takes a sip of her drink, looking around her room. "What's your room like?" She says brightly, as I sit my glass on her bedside table, nearly knocking off a pink, stuffed pig.

My room? I'm sure it's there somewhere under the pile of clothes and empty food containers. It was there when mom and I moved in, anyway. I shrug, "It's a room." Enough small talk, I hate that stuff anyway. I might as well get a start on why I came here. "So... tell me a bit about yourself, Cat." It's about as subtle I can get, it was either that or yelling at her, '_Why are you so nice? Why are you so happy?' _I'm not even sure she is happy. She's perky, yeah, and she smiles a lot, but... again, there's that therapist thing.

Cat looks down at her glass, fingertip tracing over the rim. "What did you want to know?"

I purse my lips. I half-expected her to go nuts and gush all over me about... well, everything. She has with everything else I've asked her. I asked her if she saw the Space Needle and she somehow ended up talking about the movie _Space Buddies_, where dogs go into space or something, and then she started wondering if you could send dolphins to space, or whether they'd have to wear a wetsuit. She hops from one subject to another, and once she starts, she's hard to stop. But... she didn't with this question. She put up a wall, and I wonder if there are some questions she wouldn't answer, if maybe she's not as open and honest as she seems.

"Tell me about your friends." I watch her as the words leave my mouth, and I'm curious to see if she'll answer. And somehow, I'm trying to convince myself that this'll help me learn how to be nice, to learn from her.

Cat's coffee-hued eyes dart down, fingertips tracing over the condensation of her glass, and she turns away, sitting the drink on the ground, making an indentation in her white carpet. "I... ah..." She turns back, hands twisting over themselves in her lap, and I wonder if she's going to answer, and more, I wonder what it is I'm going to hear. "T-there was Robbie, and... Rex... he was a puppet-" Freddie. My mind instantly goes to that. Like Freddie and his laptop, except a puppet can't show you porn. "And there was Andre," A smile quirks her lips, "He called me Little Red." Her eyes flick up to meet mine, warm and sparkling, "'Cause I'm small and I have red hair." Her fingers thread through her hair, drawing the locks out as if to show me. "And there was Beck, and Tori, and..." The smile flickers off her face, her eyes dropping again, but not before I glimpse the warmth fading, that light disappearing. "And Jade." She forces a smile, but her cheer is false, and I can see how hard she's trying, see the embers of light she's trying to reignite. "But they're... they're not my friends anymore. I mean... I talk to Tori sometimes, but..."

"Things are different." I say softly, studying her. And despite myself, I am learning something. I'm learning how to pretend that things are okay, I'm learning how to hide behind my eyes and pretend that I'm happy. I'm learning that a smile is just muscles when it doesn't have feeling in it. It's just a movement. And there's something else I noticed. "Jade." Cat flinches at the name, her eyes skittering away from me, and my suspicions are confirmed. "What was she like?" Cat's fingers pick at her bedspread cover, nervous, and I shift closer to her, wanting to see her face, to dissect her, to pick her apart and find the parts that make her happy most of the time, and see if I can find them in myself. My hand brushes her as I shift, thigh touching against hers, and I'm almost so close as to feel her breath on face, close enough to see her even when her eyes duck away, when she tries to hide.

"She was..." Cat's eyes flick over my face, pausing at my stare. "She was a lot like you." Cat bites her lip, exhaling, a lock of her ruby hair slipping free from behind her shoulders, dangling over her cheek. "Sam... why are you here?" She looks at me questioningly, a silent appeal in her eyes, like she wants me to say that I like her, that it's because I can't stay away from her. She wants me to make her feel special. She wants a lie, and something tells me she's been lied to a lot.

"I want to get to know you." And it's not a complete lie, there are parts of her I want to get to know, parts I want to take apart and find out how they work, so I can build then in myself, so I can cast off these fucking shackles. I'm not in juvie, but I'm not free either.

Cat's lower lip trembles, and she inhales sharply, closing the gap between us, so fast, so easily. Cat's lips are soft, and wet, and her mouth tastes of rootbeer and a little bit like coconut. And I'm stunned, eyes closing automatically, trying to get my mouth to move and say something, trying to get my hands to work, to push her away, but Cat's lips are silencing me. Her hand is pressed over mine, and they're weights, they're clamps that hold me in place, even though her touch is light. I force my eyes open, and all I can see is red. The ruby of her hair, dripping over her cheek, curtaining my vision, Cat's lashes dark and matted together, and I finally muster enough resolve to pull back, our lips making a soft noise as they part.

Cat's eyes flutter open, rich and brown, tongue swiping over her parted lips like it's searching for her voice, like she lost it, passed it into me. Hey shaped eyebrows turn up pitifully. "I... I'm sorry." A hand flies to her mouth, my skin cooling from where her fingers pressed against me, where her fingerprints left imprints in my skin. She's looking at me fearfully, and I'm waiting for the outrage, the anger to set in, to justify that fear she's feeling. But I'm just... I'm confused. I don't know whether the shock is numbing me, or whether these feelings aren't even there. They should be, I should be furious. No one... no one does things like that to me, to Sam Puckett. No one just... just kisses me like that.

I scramble back, standing, bumping into her bedside table and almost knocking the glass of rootbeer off. "I... uh... I've gotta go Cat... I... I can't..." And I can't, I can't even think, I can't... I'm... I'm confused. She puts me off balance normally, but now she's knocked me off my feet entirely. Somehow I find my way outside her apartment, somehow I find my way to the pavement, and I'm moving, I'm walking fast, with purpose, and I can only hope my feet are leading me in the right direction, that they're taking me somewhere, because my brain is still muddled, still messed up. I'm still trying to find my feet from where she tripped me.

**A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long in coming, I had a lot of ground to cover and I had to find a way of getting there. 'Cause... I'm not walking that far. YOU walk that far. Pfft. You would, wouldn't you?**

**You just walk everywhere with your fancy legs and your proper shoes and your knee high socks and your swinging arms. I'M SICK OF IT.**

**Anyway, please review. It's always appreciated.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Neither of these delightful shows belong to me, yet I have mashed them into a hybrid monster that still... doesn't belong to me.**

I watch my feet, one in front of the other, the faded red converse slapping against the pavement. I focus on it, just one foot forward, onward and onward. I shove my hands deep down into the pockets of my red plaid hoodie. A wry smile flickers at my lips; I would've forgotten it on the way out of Cat's apartment, but the colour caught my eye. And I'm trying so hard to focus on just walking, but my vision is still filled with red. Red, red, red. Cat's hair, casting a curtain over us, Cat's lips, flushed and parted, Cat's cheeks, flooded with blood. It's all swirling around in my mind, like a pot that's boiling over, and I'm trying my best to put a lid on it, to stop it from spitting out and scalding me. I can't think about it, I can't.

She's still on my lips. I'm scared to lick them, to wipe them, because it acknowledges that she's left a trace, that there's something to clean away; a taste, a sheen. She... she... _kissed_ me.

My feet stumble over each other, and I shake my head, trying to blinker the world with a shield of blonde curls, head hanging. Stop thinking about it. Just stop. I can't even begin to... to understand. It just... it doesn't make any sense to me. No. Focus on walking. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. I'm studying my shoes so closely my eyes start to ache, and I wish they were any colour but red right now. I can see the dark splatter where my permanent marker bled from when I graffiti-ed Fredbag's backpack, the slight split in the toe from where I kicked a drum in and the metal edges snagged, the scuffed sides from where I've scraped them running, and climbing fences. This is me, this is Sam. I'm rough, and I'm messy, and I feel like I've forgotten, like whatever Cat did took away my memory, and I can't remember who I am. Everything's been turned upside down, and all the blood's rushing to my head and making me nauseous.

Maybe she's teaching me more than I thought. All I wanted to learn from her was how to fake happiness, and I've already learned how to mask my feelings, because I'm sure I'm not showing half the turmoil I'm feeling right now. I'm damping it down right now... it's a storm that's approaching out of the corner of my eye, but I'm looking away and predicting a sunny day, even while thunder drowns out my words. I've always been good at denying things, and right now, I'm denying anything even happened. I have to, because I just can't process it. As Freddork would put it, it's like I'm a computer, and I've been told that, hey, guess what, two's a number. Life isn't all ones and zeroes. It's inconceivable to me, it's completely foreign, and I just need time to... to not think about it.

Feet. Just keep walking. I don't even know where I'm going, part of me is scared to look in case I'm just circling around Cat's apartment, or in case she's chasing after me. I've been walking for a while now, watching the pavement change, a spiderweb of never-ending cracks. I wonder what would happen if they ever joined up? If all the tiny cracks met... would it cause a big one? Would it break them irrevocably? It's funny how the little things can pile up to make big things. How every little thing is part of something, and it just gets bigger and bigger until it crushes you. How every little act of vandalism, every little petty theft, were just words in a book that's on the last page and ready to end. I know if I mess this up, there won't be a _to be continued..._ at the end. Just _Sam goes to juvie, _and then the covers close. And to be honest, I wouldn't mind it ending that way; I don't read, after all. But Carly does... and she's what stops me from doing everything. She's the little voice in my head that say maybe it's _not _such a good idea to call that cop fat, or to throw eggs at that old man, or to steal that icecream from that little kid. Most of the time, her voice is loud enough that I can't ignore it; it's when it's a whisper that the trouble comes. I get so sick of caring, of watching every step, of having her hover over me, even when she's not there. It makes me feel trapped, but by myself, by her, by guilt, by my feelings. I don't want to let her down, and I hate that I care if I let her down. And maybe some of the stuff I do is just me rebelling, trying to prove to myself that I'm still free, I can still do whatever I want and not care. But I always go back to her. I always keep my mouth shut about the stuff I do, because I _do_ care if she knows. It hasn't worked anyway, I still let her down, and I still care.

My feet stop suddenly, and I sway on the spot, looking up. Of course. They always bring me back to her. She's where I go when I have nowhere else, she's where I go even when I have somewhere. I take the stairs to Carly's apartment; the more I walk, the more steps I take, the further I can leave what happened behind me.

I knock hesitantly at Carly's door, knuckles rapping over the wood, and it feels weird. It feels like... not-Sam, because I never knock. I always just burst in, because I'm here just as much as Carly and Spencer, it's as much my home as it is theirs. It bugs me that I still don't know how to act, it means that something did happen, and I'm trying hard to pretend nothing did. I don't need these reminders that Cat- that nothing happened.

Carly opens the door with a smile, eyebrows jumping in surprise when she sees it's me. "Hey, Sam." She looks at me strangely, like she's not sure why I'm knocking either. I move past her, jerkily, forcing myself down onto her sofa, to remind my muscles that they've done this same thing a million times before. They should know it off by heart; it shouldn't feel strange to sit here. But even my skin doesn't feel like it fits right at the moment.

Carly sits next to me, coffee-hued eyes curious, hands folded in her lap. "I thought you had a thing with Cat."

_A thing_. I blink, tearing my eyes away from my shoes. I need to focus on something that isn't red. Anything. "I did." I say shortly, picking a tiny sculpture that Spencer's been working on. It's some twisted shape that doesn't end, but doesn't really begin either, and for some reason, there's a horseshoe nailed to it.

Carly waits like she's expecting me to continue, to tell her about how I couldn't help myself and pounded Cat, or flayed her with my words and left her a shivering mess, so she can say she told me so, and that she knew I hadn't changed. Oh, I've changed alright. I don't know who I am at the moment. I'm still waiting for the Sam I'm supposed to be to come flooding back. I can't just be blank like this. "How'd it go?" Carly asks after she realises that I'm not going to expand on my answer.

How did it go? _How did it go? _It... it went, alright. "Fine."

"Just... fine?"

I tear my eyes away from Spencer's sculpture to look at her. "Yeah." I nod a little, and my eyes feel like they're open much too wide, my lips feel like they're drawn much too tight, like I'm making a physical effort to show that I'm not hiding anything, no shadows here, no siree. Carly's eyebrows are tucked down a little, her head canted to one side. Her hands lay flat on her jeans-clad lap, and they twitch slightly, like they're deciding whether to twist over each other and try to solve this puzzle.

Carly purses her lips, giving a little shrug and standing. "You want a drink? I've got rootbeer, and Peppy Cola."

"Peppy Cola." I answer quickly, licking my lips subconsciously. It's stupid, but it's almost like I can still taste her. I know it's just the rootbeer, I drank it too, but... it's like she's in it, and I have to obliterate that taste as soon as possible. Because nothing happened.

My fingers almost snatch the can out of Carly's hands, metal chilling my slick fingers, hissing as I pop the tab. I take a long swig, washing it over my lips and feeling it bubble and fizz it's way down my throat.

Carly laughs, sitting down again. "You must've been thirsty."

I burp as a response, and it feels like I'm a little more Sam again, a little more me. Carly's even wrinkling her nose like she always does.

"Hey, did you want to help Freddie and me with iCarly? We were gonna come up with some skits."

I take another long sip of the cola, propping my feet up on Carly's coffee table. Red. "Nah, I think I'll just raid your fridge and watch Girly Cow."

Carly's shoulders drop a little, last trace of a wrinkle disappearing from her brow, and frankly, I'm just glad I've said what I was supposed to, that I'm sinking into Sam again, and that maybe Cat just startled her away for a little bit. Like when you're cold and your fingers go all blue, 'cause your blood stays close to your heart. She just froze me, but now I'm thawing out again.

Still... the cola's making my stomach churn, I can't look away from the red of my beaten up converse, Carly's eyes are cheerful just like Cat's, so close to the same colour, just more complex. Nothing happened, and I can keep saying that and saying that, but I know tonight I'm going to have to admit that something did happen, and I'm going to have to scour it out of my system, get it out of me, clean the stain off my skin until it changes to something that happened, once upon a time, and it means nothing. But for now, I'm Sam. I'm completely Sam, and this stuff doesn't happen to Sam. Carly can't know about this... no one can. And eventually I'm gonna have to talk to Cat too. To tell her to keep her mouth shut, and hope she does a better job at it than she did today.

Freddie bursts in as I click the channels over on the TV, remote in hand. He looks stunned to see me, even a little disappointed. I better break something of his to justify that disappointment. He tries to turn it into a joke, shaking his head. "Sam? You actually showed up? What happened?" He waggles his stupid eyebrows, and I wash my mouth with another swig of cola, turning the volume on the TV up.

"Nothing happened."

**A/N: As always, please do review. I've been ever so prolific. And the more you review, the quicker I update. You see... all the words I use I take from your reviews. I piece them together into a story and- no, that doesn't even make any sense. Yeah, I just want reviews. They serve no real purpose but to make me clench my fists and roll around squeeing. Like a dignified woman, of course. In petticoats, and... uh... garters, and... feathered hats. Like wot ladies wear.**

**Tell you what, you review, and I will shut up. I think that's a fair trade :P**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Like an oyster that slowly forms a pearl, this show does not belong to me. I am but the rude pearldiver, who comes in and plucks what belongs to the oyster, and what the oyster has spent many, many years developing.**

"So, Sam, how have you been?"

"Hm?" I tear my eyes away from the lion on the ceiling to see Ruben peering at me, hands tented in front of his mouth, thin, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. I honestly can't see how he could've been anything but a therapist. Maybe a podiatrist or something, considering he always wears sandals. One time, he wore Crocs, and it took all I had not to punch him in the face right then. I still kind of want to.

He leans back, tossing a hand out. "You seem a little distracted."

"You might wanna get your ceiling fixed." I point upwards, face blank.

His eyes follow where my hand points. "Oh, those are just some spiderweb cracks. You don't have to worry about those, Sam." He smiles reassuringly. "I assure you, the ceiling is quite secure."

I think, in all this time he's been seeing me, he still doesn't know more about me than my name, and what he's read of my file. There's some scary stuff in there. I skimmed it one day when he went out to get coffee. Lot of long, medical words in there, none of them probably good. I was hoping for a mutant superpower or something. Super strength, maybe. That'd be pretty cool. "Cool." I echo my thoughts as an answer to his statement, wishing I wore a watch so I could glance at it exasperatedly. Being here is like being in school, except there's no one I can wedgie, and no one I can steal food from. At least they're not trying to make me learn anything though. That's a plus.

"So, Sam, you never answered my question before."

I stare blankly at him. "And what was that?"

"How have you been?" His grey eyes run over me like he's searching for little threads to pull, so he can unravel me.

"Fine." My eyes skitter to his desk, lingering on a small bronze statue of a horse, one foreleg bent, frozen mid-stride.

"Did anything happen?"

My gaze flicks back to him, and I blink for a moment. "No. Nothing happened."

Cat wasn't here while I waited. It's only been a couple of days, but I've stayed away from school. Whenever Carly rang, I'd put on a hoarse voice and a cough, but even I wasn't stupid enough to think that'd fool her for a second. She knows something's up, and she knows I'm not telling her. Fuck. I'm not telling anyone. I'm past the stage where I'm denying nothing happened to myself, but there's no way I'm telling anyone else about it. I honestly don't know what's gonna happen when I _do_ see Cat again. The logical part of me is saying, _Beat her up, it's what you do_, and it's true, that's my standard solution. It's easy, effective, and fun. But the thought isn't holding any of it's usual enthusiasm. I'm just... confused. Confused by everything to do with it. There's a million questions jumbled in my head, and I can't untangle which one should come first. But maybe Cat's smart enough to avoid me too. She wasn't here while I was waiting, and I wonder if she's changed her time, if she's scared of me. I don't even know if she should be, really. Maybe my enthusiasm for violence will return once I see her. "Did Cat change her time?"

Ruben raises a bushy eyebrow at me. "You're friends with her?"

I shake my head immediately. "No, I just thought it seemed... quieter than usual. Less annoying." I offer an uneasy grin as Ruben jots a sentence down in his notebook, tip of his pen tapping against his lip once he's finished.

"How's your unlawful activity been, Sam? Been getting up to mischief?" He offers a smile that's supposed to be understanding, like he's some kindly uncle. Please. My uncle Carmine would kick his ass... although he wouldn't do it for free.

My eyebrows furrow down, fingernail scraping on the armrest of the chair, picking at it. "I, uh... plead the Fourth on that... the... not incriminating myself thing."

"The Fifth."

"Yeah, that. I plead that."

A smile flickers at the corner of Ruben's mouth, another note going into his book. "Fair enough. How's school going?"

I answer him briefly, and he moves onto my homelife, my friends, ticking off every base he's supposed to cover, and today, more than ever, I wonder if he's slowly giving up. He was right when he said I needed to look at myself, to figure out why I do the stuff I do... why I can't seem to stop, and I have... a little bit. But the last thing I want right now is to take a close look at myself, because I'm terrified of who I might be. _What_ I might be. And if there is some reason, some real, tangible reason I do this shit, what if I can't fix it? What if I can't solve it? What if I'm just... bad? Not 'cause I want to be, but because I can't be anything else? I need to talk about it to someone, but I don't want to. Not to Ruben, because... well, habit, more than anything. I don't want his condescending attitude and false sympathy pouring out onto me. That shit stains, and I don't want it reeking on me when I leave. I can't talk to Carly, because what if she realises that... that I _am_ bad? That I might never change, and that I'm just some time bomb that'll explode in her face one day and end up in juvie.

It ends finally, Ruben hauling himself to his feet with a tired groan and opening the door. I leave, head down, feet almost tripping over themselves when my eyes catch a flash of colour. Red. It's always the first thing I notice. It's like a jolt straight into my brain, and I barely notice Ruben acknowledging Cat, telling her he'll only be a moment, he's just got to finish up some notes.

Cat's hands are folded in her lap, half-raising when she sees me, before lowering again. I can see her cheeks starting to flush, mouth twisting until she finally looks at me, eyes barely resting on me before skittering off again. "Hi."

I blink at her. "Hey." My voice comes out low, and I notice the receptionist's head turn towards us. I realise with a start that my fists are clenched tight, knuckles strained white, and I wonder for a moment if I would've punched her if Cat had've moved towards me. Probably. I don't like it when people come too close. Only Carly gets to do that.

Cat's tongue darts out to run over her lips, fingers entwining with each other in her lap. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm really sorry. I didn't- I mean- I never-" She lets out a sigh, head lowering. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

She looks up at me, eyes widening. "Because I should never have done that. I just wasn't th-thinking, and-"

I put my hand up. "No, why'd you k-" I glance over at Heather, amending my words. "Can we talk outside?" I jerk a thumb towards the door, Heather's head ducking down.

Cat looks at Ruben's walnut door nervously before standing, smoothing her skirt out. I stare at Heather flatly as I leave, waiting until her eyes drop and her fingers tap over the keyboard, long fingernails sounding a staccato rhythm. But I can hear it stop before the door to the waiting room even closes behind us.

"Why'd you do it?" Even to me, my voice sounds tired, body slightly turned away from her, towards the stairwell. If I was anything like myself, she'd be tumbling down those stairs right now, ruby red hair flying. But I haven't been myself for a while. Not since Carly started looking at me different, not since I started seeing Ruben. Not since I secretly tried to go a week without breaking the law, and failed miserably. I'm getting tired of fighting, because for once in my life, I'm not winning. I'm losing this fight, and it's draining me.

"Because..." Cat chews her bottom lip, like she's searching for a reason. Maybe I put too much thought into this. Maybe she didn't have a reason at all, she just acted on a stupid impulse. From what I know about her, I could buy it. "Because I wanted to."

"That's not a fucking reason."

She flinches, cringing back, and judging from her reaction, it's a tone that she's used to. I wonder if it's how her parents speak to her. If her mom's anything like my mom... but no, she can't be. Cat's got a nice apartment, whereas the main source of my mother's income comes from her boyfriend's jeans when he's sleeping. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I just wanted to k-kiss you. It just... felt right."

I stare at her incredulously, fingernails digging into my palms. "Right? What about it felt 'right'? Are you really stupid enough to think that?" I turn away from her further with an exasperated sigh, until only a strip of red niggles at the corner of my eye, unable to be ignored. I never should've come up with this fucking plan, I never should've even talked to Cat. This is just more shit I don't need in my life, and Carly's gonna want a reason why Cat's suddenly not hanging out with us, why this girl I was being so friendly to, all of a sudden disappears. Christ, it sounds like I'm thinking of dumping her in a fucking river. I just mess everything up, just fuck it up so easily, even as I try to worm my way out, to maybe make things a little better. I should've just stuck to what I always do, I should've just run away from my problems like I usually do. It's easier, and so far, it's worked. But my legs are getting so tired, muscles speared with pain and aching, and my run is just a limp now. It's all starting to catch up.

"Why do I have to mess everything up?"

It's soft, almost a whisper, tears threaded through it, and I wonder for a moment if it was my lips it slipped from. But the tones were soft and light, and it makes me turn. Cat's hands are balled into fists, pressed to her temples like she's trying to push something back in, to pummel her brain into submission. Her lashes are wet with tears, eyes shut tight, and she looks so small and pathetic. She's the same size as me, but she pulls herself in, tucks her arms and bows her head, makes herself even tinier, like she's trying to stop people from noticing her. But she's hard to miss with that hair, and I wonder if it was an impulse, a rebellion against herself. Or maybe she wants to be noticed, secretly. And girls like that, girls who cower, and cringe, despite being pretty, despite being sweet, despite being perfectly okay, usually make me sick. They're the ones who don't fight back, who just take everything that gets hurled at them, who smile and try to join in, even though the joke's on them. The ones who try to make friends of their enemies, and just let themselves get walked all over because they're too nice, too sweet to have a spine. She should make me sick. She's the epitome of everything I hate. But right now, I know exactly how she feels. And it sucks.

I know she... she kissed me, and I should be having a big reaction to that, I shouldn't even be talking to her. I should be pissed off beyond belief. She should just be a bloodstain on the carpet by now, but she reminds me of Carly, just a little bit. I miss Carly, and sure, I see her everyday, but she's been moving away from me for a while now, and Cat's giving me a little of that warmth I got from her. Cat's actually happy to see me, and I'm not secure enough in Carly anymore to scorn that. To turn it away. Everyone's losing faith in me, everyone's guarding themselves and preparing for me to fuck up again, because it's what I always do. Maybe I'm just glad that Cat doesn't know me yet, that there's someone who's as fucked up as me. But mostly, I'm just so cold these days, and Cat warms me up a little, even if it's just with annoyance, with a feeling of superiority. At least it's something.

There's some rolling part in me, like a child roused from sleep, shifting and murmuring, and it presses in against my spine, slips up above my stomach to touch a trembling finger along the spokes of my ribs. "Hey, you wanna go do something? Fuck Ruben," I cast a hand towards the door, "He's never helped either of us."

Cat blinks at me, the hint of a smile on her lips. "What did you wanna do?" Her hope is almost palpable.

And this awoken child turns it's inquisitive strokes into painful squeezes, and I wonder what the fuck I'm doing. I'm so sick of being caged, of trying to be good for Carly, I'm so tired of being myself, but toned down, tied down. And maybe Cat is too, maybe she's holding back too. "Break the law."

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. It seems the police don't take too kindly to child abduction these days. But really, how else was I supposed to get that child's discount into the movies? Hm? AND THAT FREE SUNDAE FOR KIDS UNDER TWELVE AT THE RESTAURANT?**

**I was gonna give him back. I just wanted to win the mother/son three-legged race first. You win a chicken. I like chickens. And reviews, reviews are nice too. They're the chicken of trophies. Wait... what?**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: What? LOL WHY WOULD YOU THINK I OWN EITHER OF THESE SHOWS? WHAT ARE YOU?**

I shake the can in my hand, jogging it up and down, the metal ball inside rattling around. It's an almost comforting sound, a familiar sound. It reminds me of my childhood, more than anything. My cousin Annie used to creep out of her apartment at night and climb up my fire escape. She had a boyfriend with a muscle car, and he used to take us out for burgers. And after that, my belly full and warm, Annie's arm slung around my shoulder in the cramped front seat of the car, torn leather tickling my skin, we used to go and find a big, blank, brick wall. Annie called it her canvas. She'd pop the trunk and pull out her paint-stained backpack, and I'd hear the multitude of cans rattling around inside. I'd watch and wonder what colour she was gonna start with first this time. Black? Green? Maybe blue? She'd shake the can, and then spray a careless arc. She made it look so easy. A line here, a zigzag there, and somehow this... this art would come together. Her boyfriend would toss me one of the cans she'd discarded, and I'd make my own shaky pictures on the bricks, stick figures to Annie's masterpiece. When I got older, there started being beer, cans dented and warm, dropped when they were finished, and we'd climb higher and higher, looking for somewhere big enough for Annie to leave her mark. Sometimes we'd hear sirens, and clamber into the car, all arms and legs and laughs, and peel out of there, tires squealing. I'd look back, and sometimes I could see the flash of blue and red cover her work, and wonder if it'd be gone in a week. If she ever really left a mark, or whether it was all just futile.

But then Annie moved away. Moved in with her boyfriend, and she stopped climbing up my fire escape. So I went on my own. Crept out when mom was either unconscious, or out somewhere, and looked for my own canvas. But it wasn't the same. There was no laughter, no camaraderie. Just me, and a wall, and that rattle as I shook the can.

I spray a wide arc across the wall, black runnels bleeding down the wall from the main stripe. I take a deep breath, smelling that acrid scent. It's almost pleasant, really. I've killed a couple hours with Cat already. She was a good distraction as I stuffed the cans under my hoodie, asking the employee nonsense questions in that sweet voice of hers. But from the way that acne-ridden kid was looking at her, I don't think she needed to say a word at all. He was practically drooling. Cat had barely given him a second glance once she saw me leave, skipping off midsentence. Still probably made the kid's day.

She was actually quiet for once, tagging along behind me as the sun slowly sank. It never stays bright in Seattle for long. It's weird, but... having her so quiet, having someone who knows nothing about me... it's kind of nice. I told her stories about nearly every street corner we came to, every intersection that was familiar to me. I'd been chased by cops here; tackled a guy for a bagel here. She just nodded along, eyes wide, this big smile on her face, like it was the most interesting stuff she'd ever heard. And finally, with the sky stained purple, I found a little alleyway. One I'd been to with Annie, years ago. I swear I could still see some of our beer cans, crushed near some beat up garbage cans. The faded orange bricks were scarred and pitted, and I'd put a hand to, feeling the crumbling surface. I'd turned, pulling one of the cylinders of spray paint from under my hoodie, handing it to Cat. She'd looked at me, clutching it in both hands, face confused. "Here. Make what you want to."

She'd glanced at her hands then, chewing on her lip. "But isn't it against the law?"

I'd nodded, setting another can down on the ground, and starting to shake the one clutched in my hand. "Be bad."

"But what if we get in trouble?"

I'd snorted, glancing over at her. "Then we run."

"Oh."

I'd turned away from her then, shaking my can slowly, hoping to get that feeling back, that I got so many times before. That feeling of shaking adrenaline, that feeling of... of freedom. No rules, no constraints, just doing something because _you_ want to. Not letting other people's rules define you. I'm pinned down at school, I'm pinned down at home, I'm even pinned down at Carly's. Rules, responsibilities, obligations. It's all bullshit. I just want to do what I want, and not have to worry about everyone else.

I set down the can I'm holding, picking up the red spray paint, black flecks spotting my hands. I spray a broad red smear underneath the black line, doubling back and adding a curve. I pause as I hear a tentative rattle behind me, followed by the weak sound of a spray. A smile tugs at my lips, and I add another sweeping curve to my masterpiece.

The chill sets in not long after the sun sets, the alley barely lit by a distant street light. I roll my shoulders, fingers cramped from pressing down on the nozzle. I hear a giggle behind me, and I lower the can to my waist, rattling it lightly. A hand touches on my shoulder, and I half turn.

"Sam! I wrote a bad word!" Cat's fingers curl in front of her mouth, her eyes lit with glee, and it brings the edge of a smile to my lips. I'd always wanted to talk Carly into this; into defacing some property. But she never let me get past the first sentence. And then when I went out, she'd look at me with this... disappointment, when I came back, arms flecked with paint.

I raise an eyebrow at Cat. "Oh yeah? What'd you write?" I'm expecting a crudely sprayed 'fuck' or 'shit'. Some word newbies always spray that makes them feel so naughty. I can't help but burst out laughing when I see 'butt' written in a lovely, flowing white script. "You- you wrote-" I gasp a breath, laughing hard. "You wrote 'butt'?" I'm almost bent double, and I haven't laughed like this since... since I don't even remember. I can't recall the last time I laughed and really meant it. "Seriously?" My shoulders are shaking, hands braced on my knees, and I take a few deep breaths to calm myself, laughter slowly dying away.

"Am I bad yet?" Cat grins at me, doing a few mock punches in the air.

I snort. "Yeah, you're a real criminal." I straighten up, rattling the red spray paint in my hand. "Just gotta put your signature to that work of art." I spray out the stick figure of a cat, adding a few whiskers to the circle of a head. "What's your last name again?"

"Valentine."

"Perfect." I whisper to myself, adding a heart beside it before spraying an arrow protruding each side. I stand back, surveying it. "There we go; Cat Valentine." I wink at her, Cat grinning back.

"What'd you write?" Cat turns to my black-and-red monster on the wall. The strokes are hard and angular, running to soft curves in some places.

I shake the can softly in my hand, glancing down to it. "I didn't write anything. It's just... paint. It doesn't mean anything."

Cat's hand touches mine tentatively. "I think it's nice. You should sign it."

I smile wryly at her, shrugging. "Thanks, but... I don't think so. I don't really have a signature."

Cat purses her lips, sweeping a loose lock of ruby hair back. Her eyes light up, and she grabs the can from my loose grasp. Before I know it, she's sprayed an angular 'S', the 'P' folding back into it almost seamlessly. "There! Now people will know it's yours!"

I lick my lips, loose fingers twitching into my palm. "You know, you're not so-" The sound of sirens cuts me off, the sound of a rumbling engine coming into earshot. Revolving blue and red come strobing into view, cold headlights easing their way into the alley.

Fuck. I know this patrol car. Stupid, fucking stupid. They always go around the block this time of night. "Shit." I mutter a curse word under my breath, grabbing hold of Cat's arm. "We gotta run."

She stares at me with wide, scared eyes, dropping the spray can with a metallic clatter. The sound of the engine dies, headlights lighting us starkly. There's a click as one of the doors opens, a rough voice yelling at us to stop.

"Cat, we gotta go _now_. Just follow me."

She nods silently, hair bloody under the cold, harsh light, face swathed red then blue, colours muted by the headlights. I take off, trusting Cat to follow me, feet pounding the asphalt until I reach the entrance to the street. I make a quick left, bathed for an instant in the sickly yellow glow of a streetlight. Somehow... it feels good to run like this again, heart pounding wildly in my chest, feet slapping the pavement, wind cold in my hair, prickling my arms, adrenaline thundering in my veins. It's the closest thing to happiness I've felt for a long time. I feel like yelling, pumping my fists up, jumping around, just doing something big, something wild. But I can hear the heavy sounds of boots behind us, Cat's steps light and barely audible. Lucky for her, I know this area pretty well. And if I know these guys, they won't try too hard to catch us. I suspect they would've given up already, but they probably caught sight of my hair. They hold a little grudge against me. Can't imagine why.

I slow a little, grabbing Cat's hand and making another sharp left into a narrow alley, a thin strip of shallow water running down the dip in the middle. A trash can clatters, some mangy cat slinking away, eyes glowing, and I turn right, dragging Cat after me. My elbow scrapes the brick behind me, feeling my way through the almost pitch black gap between houses. No way they can fit in here. We burst out the other side, a shout sounding behind us, and I help Cat over the waist high chain-link fence that borders the more-dirt-than-grass lawn.

I duck across the street, almost twisting my ankle in a pothole, letting out a soft curse, Cat's hand on my shoulder pushing me forward. Just down this way a little... There's a wide alley here, lit with the occasional light, fixed above the back doors of a couple Chinese restaurants. Dumpsters spot the sides like great, dark hulks, chips of paint flaking off, heaps of white plastic bags spilling their guts around them. The sound of boots is getting distant behind us, but I shoot out the other side of the alley, taking a cold, deep breath and turning left. Cat's still close behind me, and I grab her hand as we cross an intersection, streets deserted. "Almost there. Just a little further." I pant, lungs feeling raw and red. But I've never felt better. I feel like a bird in flight. One that's being chased by a hawk.

I slow as I enter another dark alley, narrow and littered with bottles. The alley's a bottleneck itself; entrance narrow before widening out, and I turn behind the corner where it widens, the almost-black bricks hiding us. I take a deep breath, Cat panting beside me, and I feel like laughing again, from sheer relief, from sheer exhilaration. Cat must feel the same way, a grin stretching across her face, hands pressed to a cramp on the side of her stomach. I lean back against the cool bricks, staring at the murky sliver of sky that cuts through the top. My muscles feel all hot and shivering, sweat starting to cool on my skin, and I'm almost about to say something when a bottle rolls behind us, rattling with a clink against the wall. I grab Cat, yanking her to me until we're cheek to cheek and pressing a finger to my lips. Her breath exhales shakily on my neck as she fights to make it silent, and we're both barely breathing, listening for the sound of heavy footfalls approaching us. Her body kills the chill on my skin, warming me back up, fitting my curves almost perfectly. We stay frozen for a moment, ears straining, and I let her go when there's silence. Cops aren't that crafty. They don't lie in wait if they know they've got you. Probably just some stray cat. Maybe even just the wind.

I let out a long exhale of relief, a shaky smile on my face. "That was close, huh?"

Cat's fists are balled up against my chest, her eyes still wide. She tries a tentative smile. "I thought we were gonna die." She shakes her head a little, incredulously. She exhales hard through her nose, tongue running over her lips, and I realise she's still pressed up against me. I swear I can almost feel her heart pounding against me, matching the rhythm of mine, the remnants of adrenaline still racing through my veins, but fading fast. She takes a short breath, looking up at me with parted lips, and before I know what I'm doing, I've closed that gap between us, meeting her lips with my own. And all I can hear is my heart thundering in my ears, every other noise washed out, and a hand finds it's way to her cheek, stroking the soft skin. And I'm sure I'm smearing spray paint on her, but I don't care. Cat's lips are soft, and warm, melding to mine, and it fizzes in my brain and bubbles on my tongue. She tastes like vanilla and smells like paint, and her hands twitch from where they're balled up against my chest, loosening and sliding to my waist. The kiss breaks with a soft sound, but all I hear is the roaring in my head, the white noise, and my lips find her again, desperate, needing to touch her again, to taste her, to keep that adrenaline flooding my veins, to keep that bullroar in my ears. To warm me up and fill me. To make me feel alive again. Cat gasps, our lips breaking apart again, and I push off the wall, backing her into the one beside us and capturing her lips again, in short, soft kisses, until we're both panting again, for an entirely different reason. I burst out into quiet laughter, running a thumb along Cat's cheek. "I got paint on you."

Cat's mouth twists, a little smile on her flushed lips. "Me too." Her eyes flick down to my shirt, where her palms have left messy smears on the pastel material.

"We're kinda filthy, huh?"

Cat nods, dropping a short kiss on my lips that makes my heart stir again, lunging in my chest.

"You wanna come back to my place and have a shower? My mom's usually out this time of night."'

Cat wets her lips, nodding, and I reach down to grab her paint spattered hand with my own.

"It's not too far." I take a short breath, ribs pinching at my lungs. "We can actually walk it this time."

Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe it's a mixture of fear, and exhilaration, and adrenaline, and all these fucking mixed up hormones and feelings that are part of being a teenager; but this feels good, right now. I kissed her because I wanted to, at that moment. I'm with her now, because I want to be. I'm not spending time with her to please Carly, so I can learn how to behave. I'm not with her because she's a good influence, and should help my grades. I'm not with her because someone coerced me to be. I'm just with her because I want to be. It was my choice. For once, I was in charge, and it felt good. I feel better than I have in a long time, and maybe that means more than the fact that I'm supposed to hate her. Maybe I've been setting rules for myself, as well. Maybe in all my trying to stay who I was, I've locked myself in a box of who I have to be. Maybe that's why I'm failing. I'm trying to be steel and bend at the same time, and I'm groaning and creaking and crying out in pain, because I'm trying to follow contradicting rules. I'm trying to please everyone. Maybe Cat's just what I need. She doesn't care who I am, she's never asked for anything from me. She looks at me like Carly used to, her eyes bright, that look of almost awe on her face. All I know is; I need her tonight, while I still feel like this. While I still feel alive. While kissing her makes my skin buzz and my nerves pop and my breath feel like shards of glass slicing their way out of my lips.

Or maybe I am just crazy.

**A/N: Please review, 'cause it's midnight here and I took a sleeping pill, so I'm feeling kinda woozy but it's good woozy. I kind of want to go catch butterflies with a net. Butterfly collectors are called lepidopterists, which is a much cooler name than 'butterfly collector'. I guess cause it sounds more like 'leopard-doctor', which would be an awesome job, aside from the maulings. Apparently if you chop up leopard whispers and put them in someone's drink, it'll kill them for some reason. I'm not really sure why, but a witch doctor said it in a fictional book, so I think I know a _little _more about how to kill a man with whiskers than you do, _thank you very much_.**

**Where was I?**

**Oh, right. Please review. My eyes are so huge and pleading right now 0-0**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Neither of these lovely shows is currently in my possession.**

**/**

Carly. She's all I can think of as I sit on my bed, hands gathered loosely in my lap. I inspect them for a moment, these items of violence. I've used them to hurt so many people. So often, I've seen them curled into fists, the knuckles bruised, nails chipped. They look so fragile now, fingers slightly bent, still hot and soft from my shower, palms pink and smooth.

Carly. She's all I can think about, and I don't know why. I should be thinking about Cat, about her in my shower, about what she did while I took mine, what she snooped through, what she found, what she thinks, what her lips are like, what her hands feel like, what she feels like. About what's going to happen after she gets out of the shower. About whether she's realising this was a mistake, or whether I should be having that realisation myself. But all that's in my head is Carly. And maybe part of it's because her name flashed up on my phone as Cat and I burst through my door, laughter in our breath, paint flecking our skin. Her name blinked and pulsed at me, and I ignored it. It's the first time I've ever done so. The first time I haven't answered it, regardless of whether I was annoyed, whether I was groggy, whether I was pissed at her. I always answered.

I glance over at my phone where's it's tossed onto my bedside table, screen dark. I switched it off. And while I told Cat to stay, towel in my hand, and a smile on her lips as she nodded, I wondered if it would start to kick in then. The guilt. The guilt I feel every time I kiss anyone. And I don't know why, or how, but Carly's linked to it. Every time she's talked to me about boys, about kissing, every time she's tried to be close to me, to offer advice and be a friend, I've gone off and kissed Freddie. Out of frustration, out of guilt, out of spite, I don't know. I don't want to know. It's the same way I feel about all the other stupid shit I do. But kissing Cat... it wasn't about any of that stuff. Carly had nothing to do with it. I've never made a decision without her in my head somewhere. Until now. It's no surprise she's crept in, the way she does everywhere. She's always on the tip of my tongue. At least... she was until that tongue found it's way into Cat's mouth.

My fingers entwine with each other, stilling my restless hands, and I listen for a moment to the hiss of the shower in the background. What am I going to do when Cat gets out? What do I want to do? From the alley to here, it's been so fast, and whirling, and my heart has been racing, my palms have been sweating, and it's been _Cat Cat Cat_ pounding inside my brain. It's felt good, it's felt great, to have her under my skin, and so soft, so warm there, like melted marshmallow coating my bones, sticky and sweet.

But what happens now I've cooled? Now my heart's back to sitting in my chest, and all the adrenaline has been scrubbed out of my veins? Do I go back to hating Cat? Do I go back to using her? I can think of a million reasons to not be with her, to not want her, but they don't seem to mean much now. They feel like they belong to... the old me. The me I shaped myself into so carefully. The hard skin I've shed and cast aside. I'm not supposed to like Cat, and maybe I'm rebelling against the only person I haven't yet – me.

I hear the shower shut off, pipes groaning and clunking like they always do, and my shoulders tense almost without realising. This whole time, I haven't been thinking, and maybe that's for the best. Maybe I shouldn't overthink things... something I've never been accused of. Maybe I should just go with my gut. If I want her, I want her. I shouldn't let all these rules, all these things I'm 'supposed' to do, 'supposed' to be, get in my way.

I hear the doorknob to my room twist behind me, hinges squeaking as it opens. I guess I'm expecting a tenseness, an awkwardness between us. But that'd be too predictable from Cat. Too ordinary. "Hee, your shampoo smells like bubblegum!"

I almost jump, letting out a shuddery breath. Towel. She's just... and she's wet... and towel. "I should... c-clothes, I'll get you clothes." I stand awkwardly, Cat standing in the centre of my room, dripping, towel knotted in front of her chest. I'm not used to being the one who's nervous, who's awkward. I'm used to causing that in other people. If anything, Cat should be the one acting that way. But then, she doesn't really know who I am. She doesn't know about all the people I've hurt for just looking at me the wrong way, all the kids I've wedgied so hard they've had to get doctors to remove their underwear. She doesn't know... but would she care? A normal person would. But then Cat's not exactly normal.

"Uh, did... did the hot water last, or... I mean-" I shake my head, giving up any attempt at saying anything, instead handing her the bundled up clothes I've hastily collected. It's hard not to look at her skin, at her, at everything. I mean... a girl in a towel, big whoop. But it's like a switch has been flipped in my brain, and that means something now. I want to look at her, and that means I shouldn't.

Cat giggles. "You're all red!"

"Am not." I mutter a refusal, even though I can feel my cheeks flaming, crossing my arms and taking a couple steps back from her. I must be matching the red shirt I slipped on about now.

She twirls a finger at me, smile hanging on her lips. "Turn around."

I want to feel angry at that. I want to be angry that I'm blushing. That she made me blush. That I'm the one who's awkward, and she's the one who's cool, who's calm. That I want to look at her. That I can't. That I'm tempted to peek behind my shoulder, to catch a glimpse of her. But I'm not angry. I don't have that heavy clamp on my heart driving my actions. I just feel... like I imagine other people feel. Like I imagine how Carly feels. The bitterness, the anger, the frustration... it's not there right now. Like all the adrenaline has washed it away. Like all those things crushing me were gravel and dirt clogging my dropped heart, and Cat's dipped it in a basin and bathed it clean. I don't feel like myself, and it feels good.

"'Kay, you can turn around now."

Cat's the same size as me. I'm pretty sure of that. But somehow my clothes look ill-fitting on her. Too big, and too tomboyish, and somehow it only serves to make her look even more adorable. She sweeps the wet locks of her ruby red hair forward, looking proud. "How do I look?"

I lick my lips, feeling a surge of adrenaline. Except this time, it's her causing it, it's her continuing it. It's not the cops, it's not the fear of being caught. It's the fear of wanting her, of having her know that I want her. It's the fear of admitting that I have feelings that aren't anger, that aren't tough, and mean. That they're soft, weak feelings. Vulnerable feelings. It's the fear of having feelings at all. "You look... great. You should wear my clothes more often." My eyebrows dig down. There's something not right about that sentence...

Cat giggles, running her hands over her blue shirt and taking a few dainty steps forward, the smell of her shampoo wafting into my lungs. My shampoo. Her eyes flick down over me, and I almost feel like covering myself protectively. I'm not used to having people checking me out, unless it's for weapons. Cat's stripping me bare with her eyes, and it's not a feeling I'm used to. Neither is her hands sliding onto my shoulders, linking behind my neck. I'm not used to being this close with anyone but Carly, and never like this. Hardly ever like this.

Cat's lips meet mine softly, a peck before she pulls back, that smile still on her lips. And it drives my heart crazy, makes it rattle and pound in my chest, shaking the bars of it's bone prison. "You smell like me." I say quietly, hands on the curve of Cat's waist, material of the borrowed t-shirt bunching under my palms. I can feel the beginnings of her hips through the material, feel where they swell out, and it's like my hands were made to rest here, in this little dip.

Cat bites her lip, giving me another soft kiss. "You smell nice." She whispers against my lips, and I breathe in a deep lungful of her, of me. She still tastes like vanilla, faintly, faintly.

Being this close to her, being pressed up against her and feeling every curve, every swell and bump of her body, becoming so aware of mine... it's nice. It's unfamiliar, and it sends fire through my veins, and it's something I want. Something I want to conquer, to control, because this feeling is the same one I get when I break the law. The same feeling of freedom, of rebellion, of joy. It's the same and it's different, because this isn't about rebelling. This is about choosing, about wanting, about feeling. Things I've locked away but for those times when I broke free, violently. In a burst of anger, in a burst of defiance. It makes me lean into her, capture her lips, breath breaking in my lungs, shattering like fragile glass. It makes me want more of her, want all of her, gather as much of her as I can and fill my blood with her. Flood my system with this feeling until it shorts out spectacularly.

Cat's lips part, and I take full advantage, running my tongue over them as she meets me with her own. She tastes like nothing I've ever tasted, she tastes like her, like Cat, and I'd never thought I'd enjoy the taste of someone else's mouth. The boys I've kissed have tasted like cigarettes, like beer, like soda and corn chips and nothing else.

It makes me want to taste more of her, to taste all of her, and my heart is trembling in my chest from fear and excitement and longing and this feeling, this _feeling_ that I can't give a name to. This feeling that wants to stick to her, to pull her so tight to me that we join, so she's in my skin, she's in my bones, and she's in all of me.

I break the kiss, breathless, breathing in her exhaled breath. "I like you in those clothes," I pant, kissing her briefly, hands bunching up her shirt until I get to the soft, shower-warm skin underneath. "But I'd like you even better out of them." I can't stop my voice from shivering, and what was supposed to come out cocky and confident shakes to pieces. It comes out a plea, almost, an attempt at a joke that falls flat. And if only I'd had enough breath to say it, if only she hadn't taken it out of me, if only my lungs could push the walls of my ribs aside to let me get a full breath. If only I could have all of her, just for a moment, just to see what it felt like, to lose myself in another person. To find them in me.

Cat's eyes widen, innocent pools of chocolate, of coffee, of all things sweet and bitter and delicious. They bathe my skin wherever they flick, like a warm touch. They make me so aware of parts I never realised I had, never knew about before. My body isn't just a body when she looks at me. It's so much more. It's unmapped, uncharted, and I'd like her to explore me, to trace out a coastline, a ridge of mountains, a '_Here be Dragons'_, until she finds the very centre of me, the molten core that keeps me spinning. "Sam..." She breathes the word, and I swear I can almost catch the start of another, chopped and changed at the beginning. A little hitch in the word, almost undetectable. Her head bows down, hands slipping away from behind my neck, and my fingers stop their hesitant ascent, feeling the hard ridge of her bottom rib carve across her torso. I'm waiting for a _no_, a _stop_, the words I've said to boys every time, when kissing them just frustrated me, but seemed to make them so excited. I wondered if there was something broken in me, if it was like that for everyone. Carly said it just had to be the right boy, the one that made my stomach feel funny, twist over itself in clumsy knots. I was always jealous of her for finding the right boys, over and over.

Cat's lips press against my neck as she leans forward, and I can't stop a soft gasp from breaking free as she patters the sensitive skin with gentle kisses. My fingernails jump on her ribs, scraping them, and her breath pants at my throat for a moment. And as Cat's fingers dip under the waistband of my pants, hanging off them, my stomach shivering where her fingernails touch, I realise I've lost control. I don't know what I'm doing, how you're supposed to do these things, what you're supposed to do next. I don't know where my hands are supposed to go, where my lips are supposed to trace. It's like trying to build a bookcase without the instructions. I know how it's supposed to end, but all the steps in between are a mystery to me. But Cat's read the instructions before. Her lips go _here_, and her hands go _here_, and they touch and twist and scrape until I fall together the right way. The girl who looks so innocent leading the girl who looks so bad. Everything's upside down, and we're getting all mixed in together, colours running and merging, red and blonde and blue and brown until we're just some murky mixture. It's exactly what I want.

I haven't lost all of me yet, though, backing Cat towards my bed. She breaks away from me as the backs of her knees hit the edge, my hands coming out from under her shirt, where they'd tentatively crept to the bottom of her bra. She licks her lips as she looks at me, and there's a message in her eyes I can't read. Maybe the instructions are there after all, written in a language I can't speak. "Are you sure?" And suddenly she doesn't seem so innocent anymore, she doesn't seem so naive. She's someone who's experienced those quiet gasps, the damp lips pressed to skin, the heaving ribs and arching backs and working fingers, and soft, soft, sounds that carve right into you.

Am I sure? The question tickles it's way inside my ears, stroking over my brain, sparking and catching. Am I sure? No, not at all. I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know what I want to do, I don't know if I just want to kiss her until I fall asleep, or touch her until my hands remember the shape of her bones, or even melt into her until every breath she takes is exhaled out of me. I don't know if I want to go all the way, or just go so far I can't turn back, until my hands are scrabbling at a crumbling hold, and I'm trapped in her. I wanted to lose myself, why not with her? Who am I waiting for?

I give a short nod. "I'm sure. I... I want you."

I swear I see a shiver run through Cat, like a ripple through a quiet pond. But then Cat's tugging off her shirt, and I'm too distracted to be sure, to wonder what it is, revealing skin that just minutes before I had to turn away from, had to avert my eyes from. It's tan, and smooth, and flawless, and as the shirt covers her face, arms crossed above her head, I see the outline of the ribs my hands traced, the smooth slope of her stomach as it falls away from that cage. I'm watching almost in awe, at how this skin means something, how it was for me, this sight is intended for me. At how skin isn't just skin, bone isn't just bone. It's something I want to dissect with my touch, deface and destroy. Leave my mark, say _Sam was here_, as much as for me as for anyone else. And a part of me wonders how it was so easy for Cat, how effortless. How the simple act of a clumsily delivered pick-up line, the stuttered creeping of my fingers, led her to assume this. Because I'm sure normal people don't move this fast, don't jump to this straight away. But I'm too dazed too care, too used to acting on impulse, and we're both far from normal people. She jumps to this conclusion, I'm led to it, and somehow it's not surprising. We match each other. I'm not sure what I want, but Cat is sure for me.

My hands are already touching her, moving of their own accord, and they slide up over her ribs to the swell of her black bra, feeling her lungs jerk and shiver, buried beneath the flesh. And in between, hidden behind another ridge of bone, lies her heart, thundering away, pouring this heat into my hands where they touch, flushing the skin and following my every move. Cat lets out a short breath, her eyes shadowed, hands hooking in the front of my shorts to tug me closer, lips crashing into mine. Every time I've kissed her, it's been to... well, kiss her. To feel that little flame flicker higher in my stomach, to feel that heat flow through my veins, spark into my fingertips. My kisses have been short, meant to spark, but this kiss is slow, is melting into me, sinking into my bones. This kiss is meant to stoke, to raise an inferno. To consume.

I jerk as her hands tug at the bottom of my shirt, before hesitantly raising my arms, palms cooling as they're taken away from her hot skin. But the feeling of my torso against hers compensates, and I lower my arms back to her, as Cat tosses the shirt aside, my hands harder, rougher, wanting to feel her through the flimsy, scratchy material of the bra, wanting to know the shape, the texture of the skin that lies underneath. Wanting to flick over the hard buds of nipples I can feel pressing into my palms, even through the bra.

My muscles shiver as Cat's fingers trail up my stomach, leaving goosebumps in their wake. No one's ever touched me like that before. Slowly, gently. A touch that's meant to explore. The most I've ever had is an accidental brush, or some jag's rough hands trying to crawl into my shirt, cold and bruising before I punched them in the face and sent them home swearing. And I guess part of the feeling, part of the shivering that lies under my skin comes from the fact that I'm letting Cat do this. I'm letting her touch me this way, and I wonder if she feels the same way about me touching her, or whether she's used to feeling vulnerable, to being bare.

I'm lost, I'm drugged, I'm swept away by the feelings, the sensations, the skin, the sounds, the touches, the everything. I'm reeling, but I'm snapped back to attention by Cat's hands fumbling at the button to my shorts, zipper snicking down. And almost before I can register, before I can really comprehend, her hand has crept down, fingers rubbing over my underwear, and my eyes flicker shut for a moment, teeth pinning my lower lip. It's light, and it's teasing, and it's quivering it's way up my spine, an earthquake in my flesh, that hits my heart and makes it lunge painfully on the strings that keep it in place. My breath shudders out, hips pushing forward, and it was so easy, so simple for her to do. It only took a second. The barrier of my pants, of the button, the zip, was deceiving. It was flimsy, easily surpassed. I didn't even have time to say _stop, wait_, and I wonder if I would've. If I would've stuttered before this thing that seems so big, so hard, like something that should be eased into. This thing that seemed like a definitive line, that had to be studied, that had to be considered before you jumped across. But it only took Cat a little step, and I wonder if she even saw the line that seemed so clear to me. The line I wavered on the edge of, only to have her tug me across.

I'm pressed against her, wanting her fingers to rub harder, to press against me more, to burst through the thin cotton and touch me directly, because these flickers, these little shivers that make me gasp wet breaths against her neck are not enough. And this is it, this is the _too far_ I wanted to fall into, to get in so deep I can't back out, I can't pass this off as nothing. I can't push Cat away and tell her to go, tell her this is just some game I got bored of playing. I don't want to, I don't want her to stop.

But she does. She pulls back, hand brushing my stomach on it's exit, and my eyes open slowly, heavily, that throbbing in the pit of my stomach lessening. I wonder why, blearily, until I see Cat's hands tugging at her own pants, shimmying them off. She looks at me from hooded eyes, locks of bloody hair spearing across her face messily as she lowers herself to the bed, scooting across my rumpled grey covers. My mouth is dry, throat swallowing hard over nothing, trying to force down nothing but the gasp that threatens to escape me. I'm entranced by her, eyes clouded by lust, by want, by need, by all these soft feelings that don't feel so soft anymore. They're as pressing and insistent as any other, just as enticing as the ones that lead me into trouble. And Cat's succeeded in getting this fire to blaze, to crackle and pop over my bones, tremor along the ridges of muscles and lap at my skin. It's out of control, and it's seared every other thought but her out of my brain. It's burned that weight off my shoulders, scorched those rules that hammered at me. _Don't do this, don't do that, don't, don't don't_. But I do want to do this. And all the reasons I shouldn't have been burnt to ash and scattered.

I ease my shorts down, stepping out of them and following her, eyes tracing the curve of her hips, the tautness of her thighs. The dark triangle of her panties, cutting across her skin, interrupting the smoothness with inky blackness. I crawl across the covers, and the look Cat is giving me, this look of waiting, this look of wanting, it tears me apart. It pulls me to her like a magnet until we snap together, and I'll be damned if I can pull us apart again. My limbs feel heavy, feel clumsy as I straddle her, freezing as Cat raises a knee to brush over me, parting my legs wider to slide over my underwear.

"C-Cat-" I manage to stutter, breath shuddering out, arms trembling to hold me up, to keep me where her knee rubs so softly, so teasingly. Her hands slide onto my waist, warm, running up over my ribs like she's playing a scale, until she reaches the sharp curves of my shoulderblades. My thighs are trembling from where I'm keeping them still, muscles taut, hips wanting to move against her.

"Here," She says softly, almost a sigh, her knee lowering, body twisting, and I let my arms buckle, letting Cat's hand guide me onto my back. Her stomach presses against mine, a smile on her lips as her knee slips between my legs and our positions are reversed. And she seems so much confident in it than I did, lips meeting mine softly before she breaks away. "Better?" Her hand strokes over my waist, and I give an unsteady nod. I feel so clumsy, so stupid, like I'm stumbling my way through something I'm supposed to know. My body keeps betraying me, keeps bending and breaking under Cat, like she's the moon and it's the tide, just obeying her movements. I just want her to touch me 'till I'm shaking.

Cat's hair drips over my chest, my collarbone in damp locks, torso sliding against mine as her hand creeps down, and I can't help but watch, can't help but feel my hips twitch in response, legs spreading further apart as her fingers dance over the front of my underwear, brushing my inner thighs in their path. Cat kisses me as I let out a moan, fingers rubbing over the dampening material, and I can't help but push up against her shamelessly, and think how much better it would be if that thin fabric was out of the way. How much better it would feel. Cat's kisses are distracting, my lips shivering against hers, breath fanning her cheek in short bursts when remember to breathe. And her fingers seem so sure, so skilled, but maybe it's just because I've never done anything like this, maybe because it's the first time... I don't know, but it feels... it feels amazing. It's a feeling that I want to chase, that I want to pursue and catch and pin down until it's writhing under me, until it sinks into my skin and bleeds out every pore. Cat's lips move to my neck, and it's a barrage of sensation, hammering my body, making it twitch and jerk like a marionette on a string, and Cat's the puppeteer. Some vague, distant part of me wonders how she's so good at this, who else she's done this with. If that someone is part of the reason she came here, if that someone is why she jumped to that conclusion with me, so quickly. She's still so much of a mystery to me, but I'm peeling layers off her all the time.

"F-fuck-" My hips buck up into Cat's hand, that hot feeling in the pit of my stomach pooling. I can't stop my hands from gripping too hard onto her ribs, can't stop my fingernails from digging into her skin, can't stop my teeth from gritting as I push against her. It's too light, it's too soft, it's too teasing, and I don't know what I want, but I want it. I need it. It's almost like anger, like frustration, and my fingers twist on Cat's back to work at the catch of her bra. I need her bare, I need to have her soft everywhere, not broken and split by her underwear. I need to stroke and touch without my fingers stuttering over some rough piece of material. And some childish, whining part of me just wants to see, it's not fair to get this far and not go further. I just wanna see, just wanna touch, just want her to touch me. It's the same part that makes me eat a dozen fatcakes, that makes me hog the remote, and steal Carly's food. It's the most childish, wanting part of me, and it's developed an adult taste.

The catch gives finally, Cat leaning back, her hand stilling. She lets it slip forward, straps sliding down her arms until she tugs it off, letting it slide off the edge of the bed. And as much as I want her to keep going, to keep her fingers rubbing so insistently, I can't help but let my eyes linger on this newly revealed flesh. Her breasts are small but so perfectly formed, and I wonder if they're as soft as they look, as smooth, and I let my curious hands slide around from her back to cup them. Cat bites her lip as my palms brush her pink nipples. I repeat the action, Cat letting out a short breath, eyelashes matting as her eyes flicker closed for a moment. I trace their shape, following the swell, the curve, and it takes a moment to shutter into frame in my head. I'm touching Cat's breasts. It seems such a stupid thing to realise, such an obvious thing, but the meanings of my actions usually take a while to catch up with me. Occasionally in court.

I flick my thumbs over Cat's nipples, studying her face like she's some experiment I'm waiting to observe the reaction of. She lets out a soft gasp, leaning into my hands, ribs shivering against the bottoms of my palms, sharpening with every breath.

"Sam..." Her voice holds an unasked question, hand splayed on my stomach and sliding up, and tear my hands away from her reluctantly, propping myself up. Cat's hands circle behind me, and all too soon I feel that tight material slackening, straps sliding forward. I lower myself again, Cat following me and capturing me in a soft, drawn out kiss, and I suppress the urge to gasp that comes from her breasts brushing mine. It doesn't make sense that it should feel so... so... gratifying. Cat's pink lips trace their way down my jaw, and a short breath spurts out from my mouth as Cat's lips move to my neck, dragging over my pounding pulse. I wonder if she notices how hard my heart is beating. A hand rubs over my breast as she slides down a little, mouth meeting my collarbone, sucking lightly, and I'm sure she must feel my stomach shiver against her own. Her lips trail down further, tongue wetting my skin, tracing the curve of my breast until her mouth latches onto a nipple. I muffle a curse at the sharp tug it sends through me, hips bucking up into her. She sucks lightly, tongue brushing over the hardened nub, and I press my head back into my pillow and shut my eyes tight, back arching off the bed. Cat uses the opportunity to hook her thumbs in my underwear, dragging them down, her mouth still fixed to my breast, and I bite down hard on my lip to stop a moan from coming out. She draws away to work my underwear down further, dragging them down past my knees until they're off completely. And of all the ways I thought this could go, I never thought I'd be the one completely naked first. I never thought I'd be doing this at all. Not this soon, not with her, not even with a girl. I thought of it as some distant thing, that I'd know when, and where, and what to do by instinct. That some day it would dawn on me, or I'd give in to it out of exhaustion, sick of the pressure. This isn't anything like that. This is a twisting in my gut, a spreading flame that wants, wants, _wants_, but what it wants, I don't know. If it just wants the pleasure, if it just wants her, if it just wants to feel something again. I can't tell. I know I'm doing this because I _want_, but why is Cat? She seems so much surer than I am, and for someone who shows their emotions so clearly, I can't read her right now. She's wanted me since we met, and I have no idea why, what for, what she sees. It can't just be about the pleasure for her, she's too sweet for that. But really, I don't know her at all.

I know enough though. If I lied about being sure before, I'm not lying now. I lean up, capturing Cat's lips as her thumbs hook in her own underwear. They're off soon enough, and she's bare, finally, all smooth skin and hard muscle, and it would be so easy to touch her, so easy to slide my hand between her parted legs and make her moan. I'd translate my thoughts to actions if Cat's fingers weren't already tickling my inner thigh, sliding up. And this is what vulnerability feels like. She has me, completely. I couldn't tell her to stop even if I wanted to. My body is hers to do what she will with it. I'm just a held breath until she touches me. I never understood why anyone would ever want to be vulnerable, to open themselves up. It seemed stupid; you just get hurt, every time. But maybe it is worth it sometimes, maybe if you get enough times like this, it makes up for the bad ones. It's terrifying, it's paralysing, to keep myself waiting, to keep myself at her mercy. But it feels kind of satisfying to, and I melt as soon as her fingers brush me, hips trembling. And that held breath gets caught in my throat, coming out as a low moan. It's almost a relief, and it feels just as good as I imagined, frustrated with Cat's light rubbing over my underwear before. It feels so much better.

I bite down hard on my lip as Cat's fingers find my clit, stroking gently, a muffled curse slicing through my teeth. My whole body feels like some taut string, waiting to be snapped by Cat, so I can lash back, relax, and coil on the ground, replete. I manage to slip a hand from Cat's waist to her stomach, diving down over the shivering muscles, the soft thatch of hair, Cat fingers faltering as I reach her, fingertips hot and wet. She pants a hot breath against my neck, letting out a soft whimper that encourages my clumsy fingers, her hips pushing forward. And I'm a rusted piece of machinery, futilely trying to function, gears grinding and levers jerking in some attempt to work, but I'm just shaking myself to pieces instead. My muscles are taut, my skin is shivering, and I'm trying to feel her, to make her gasp my name, but it's so hard when she's trying to do the same thing, and I think that if I could just breathe, if I could just have a moment, then I could compose myself. Then I could be so much better.

Cat's making these soft sounds that cut into me, that slice through skin and bone to wrap around my heart, to swell in my throat and lift my back off the bed, to tug at this tight string inside of me. They're such vulnerable noises, her voice staining every breath, and for such soft things they hit me with a razor edge. Cat's hand dips down further, her fingers exploring me, and I can't help but gasp as she slips a finger inside of me, my hand stuttering to a stop, fingertips coated with her. "Oh, f-fuck, Cat-" My head presses back into the pillow, small of my back arching, Cat's lips planting a soft kiss on my pulse point, breath unsteady. I sob out a breath as she eases another finger into me, moving them inside of me. My skin is sloughing off, my nerves are whipping and lashing and sparking, singing my muscles, stinging my brain. Some remote presence of mind stirs my fingers into motion again, in short, jerky movements that nonetheless make Cat shudder, her hips rolling forward. But my concentration only lasts so long, shattering with this building pleasure inside me as Cat twists her fingers, hand rocking back and forth, and my hand goes back to clutching at her waist, clinging to the slight dip, as if to keep her there, just _there_. And I can't help but push up into her every time she pulls away, until it's sweeping over me in a crushing wave, and the words in my throat get mangled into an unintelligible sound, eyes shut tight, body snapping like a cable, muscles pulled so tight as to thrum under my skin. It feels like I'm melting, hot wax pooling, rivulets running down my skin, breath liquid, and I'm sure my nails dig into Cat, but she keeps her hand moving until I relax, sweat hot on my skin.

Cat eases onto her side, hand splayed on my stomach, and I shift to face her, muscles weak and shivering. A shaking hand finds her cheek, and I manage to bring my lips to hers, and it's a slow, quiet kiss that says something I don't have words for, something that can't be said. But maybe Cat understands it, because I can feel a smile in her lips, and my fingers can feel her heartbeat tremor underneath her jaw. My fingers ghost down over Cat's body, her eyes widening as they skim over her flat stomach, reaching between her legs, and she parts them almost instinctively. While my muscles are still disobedient, and my head is still swimming, if there's one thing I do, it's finish what I start. Much to the displeasure of the police department. And Cat? She's not finished yet. She's not finished until she's panting my name into my ear, hands clutching at me desperately, body tense and straight.

I stroke along her before slipping a finger in, and she's so wet it's almost too easy. Her hips jerk forward, clashing with mine, and she's tight and hot around me, flesh velvet. I can feel myself throbbing, still sensitive, and I capture Cat's panting lips, keeping her kissing me as my finger curls inside her, her chest heaving against mine. Her fingers flex on my back, and I add another finger, hand rocking until I feel her short nails sink in, a moan spilling from her mouth. I increase the pace, watching as Cat's white pearls of teeth sink into her lip, pinning the pink flesh. I can feel Cat's thigh trembling against my forearm as she struggles to keep her legs parted, to keep them from closing like they want to, tendons tightening instinctively. And it doesn't take long before she's trembling, eyes shut tight, breath hot on my face, my name slipping out in a moan as she presses against me, hips rolling, a little whimper muffled against my neck.

As I draw my hand away, palm slick with her, fingers coated, it's hard to say what it is I'm feeling. I feel like my insides are coated with ice, like I've drank a bottle of cold water too fast and it's chilling my stomach. I feel like my organs are twisting where they rest. I feel like my skin is scorching, like all my blood spilled into it, to get as close to Cat as possible, welling wherever she touched. I feel a whirlwind of things, a writhing turmoil that seethes in my chest, and it'd be impossible to pluck one strand of meaning from the maelstrom. But I don't feel bad, I don't feel wrong. I'm not wracked with guilt, with regret. And despite this whirling in my chest, I feel calmer in my mind than I have in a long time. Things seem simple, they seem black and white, and everything's inside the lines. What I want and what I'm going to do are the same thing, for once.

"Let's just sleep." I whisper it into her lips, and the words escaping aren't mine. They're coming from somewhere deep and hidden, from thoughts I never indulge, was never aware of. "I don't wanna go out there, I don't wanna get up. I just wanna sleep. With you." A soft smile tugs at the corner of Cat's mouth, and I kiss it gently, heart thick in my mouth, choking me. And some primal part of me remembers when Melanie still lived here, when we were tiny and inseparable, those first few years. Back when being twins meant we were identical in everything, not just appearance. I'd have nightmares sometimes, and I'd wake up, tiny heart pounding, and know that I could just roll over and Mel would be there. That if she was still there, if she was still okay, then I would be too. But then she went away, and there was no one to chase the nightmares away, and I had to get used to sleeping alone.

Right now, in this shivering, vulnerable moment, I want Cat here. I feel safe, and I want, just for an instant, to feel the way I did before I was Sam, before I was anyone. I just want to go to sleep knowing I'm not alone. And whatever I feel when I wake up, I'll deal with it. Right now, I want her. I need her. We're both such broken people, and we've been shattered in different ways, and I know I'm still trying to figure out where my cracks are, what caused them, and that should mean we'll just shake each other to fragments if we're together. But maybe her hands can cover the worst of mine, and maybe I can find hers and tape them shut. Maybe she could help me be someone. Someone who no one's disappointed in. Someone I'm not disappointed in.

/

**A/N: Yup. This is the end of this chapter. Betcha thought it was never coming right? I know I did -_-**

**So basically, I'm just gonna collapse in a heap on the floor here, and maybe quietly die. Please leave your kind thoughts and words resting upon my corpse. If no one collects me in a few days, just float me down the Ganges. I'll get to where I need to go.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Neither iCarly nor Victorious is possessed by my grasping claws of want.**

/

"_Sam?_"

I wake up groggily, nose buried in Cat's soft hair, a gush of red filling my gaze.

"_Sam!_"

Closer now, followed by heavy, unsteady footsteps, and I snap awake, arm tightening around Cat's bare waist. She makes a soft sound, body curling up tighter. I sit up, a soft curse cutting my lips. "Shit."

I jog Cat's shoulder, trying to wake her up, chewing at my lip. She murmurs my name, rolling onto her back, elbows propping her up, as the bedspread slides forward, barely covering her breasts.

"Cat, get dressed. Quick." I hiss at her, scrambling out of bed, fumbling for where my shorts are crumpled on the floor and tugging them on, not bothering with underwear. I toss a shirt at Cat, as she blearily rubs her eyes.

"Sam? What's going on?" Her voice is soft, confused, still muddled with sleep.

I hold a finger to my lips, wriggling into a blue shirt, mentally crossing my fingers. Fuck. Why don't I have a lock on my door? I glance at the splintered wood on my door frame. Right. I did have one once. It didn't last long. I race around the other side of my bed, throwing a pair of shorts onto the bed as Cat daintily slips into the red shirt. But the doorknob's already twisting, hinges already squealing as the door opens.

"_Sa_- What the fuck?" Mom's voice is harsh, slurred with alcohol, and I shield Cat behind me as she struggles into her clothes. "Is that a girl?" She bobs her head forward, makeup smeared, blonde bangs plastered across her forehead. "Is that a fucking girl in your bed?"

"It's none of your business." I snarl, shoulders set. She always comes home drunk, calling for me like some yowling cat, slinging her arm around me, whispering that I'm her Sammy girl, that we don't need a man to be a family. That's what I call the nice phase. She's slipped right into the next phase now though. The bitch phase.

She pushes the door open wider, hand swiping clumsily at my shoulder, as if to push me out of the way so she can see Cat better. "Like hell it's not. My daughter's no fucking dyke. Did you fuck her, Sam?" She wrinkles her nose, voice dropping to a whisper, dripping with bile. "_I can smell her all over you._"

I glance behind me, Cat quaking, eyes wide and scared where she's perched on the edge of the bed, clothes wrinkled and awkward on her. She looks at me helplessly, hands curled in her lap.

Mom follows my gaze, shouldering past me roughly, frame all sharp bones and saggy skin, and I stumble back, almost tripping over my own feet. She grabs Cat's wrist, fingers circling around the delicate joint like a talon, a handcuff clicking closed. Cat flinches as she's yanked to her feet,, cowering like she expects my mom to hit her. And a part of me expects it too. But instead she just grimaces, a look of disgust on her makeup-encrusted face, clothes even more dishevelled than our own, as she spits vitriol at Cat. "Get the fuck out of my house."

She shoves Cat forward, toward the door, pushing her along down the hall, cans and bottles rattling underfoot.

"Leave her the fuck alone, Mom." There's this hot, swirling, crawling anger rolling through me, hissing through my veins, wriggling through my skin, fanning it's fingers wide, shooting tendrils into my brain and making me scrabble forward, trying to slip past my mother's bony form, and cursing, not for the first time, my shortness. And my stupidity. That feeling of safety has long since fled, that feeling of calmness has dissolved, replaced by this rage, this helpless fucking rage I'm so accustomed to feeling.

Mom flings the front door open, claw of a hand shoving Cat forward, bunched in the small of her back. Cat stumbles, fingers peeling from the doorframe, and I'm flashed back to when we stumbled inside, laughing and breathless, just hours before. Cat's eyes are wide now, rimmed with tears, and I stand trembling with suppressed anger behind my mother, her gangly frame cutting my view of Cat into pieces. "My daughter's not a fucking lesbian. If I ever see you here again, you'll fucking regret it, dyke." She spits the last word, ichor dripping from her lips, and I wince as I see it hit Cat, as hard as a slap. She slams the door shut, whirling on me. "What the fuck was that, Sam?"

My hands curl into hard fists, knuckles strained white, and the gentle caresses they gave before are all but erased, violent memories returned. "It was nothing." I try to keep my voice steady, that rage choking me, clawing at my lungs, rattling my heart around and howling.

"Don't you pull that fucking shit on me, Sam. I won't have a fucking dyke in my house." She raises her hand, like she's about to slap me, and I set my shoulders. It wouldn't be the first time she's hit me, but it'd be the first time since I got big enough to hit her back. Her lips uncurl, loosening their rictus, and her hand lowers slowly, like I'm not worth the effort. "Go to your room." She spits over her shoulder, turning and shuffling to the fridge. I force my muscles to obey, from where they're clenched taut, turning and walking stiffly down the hall, hearing the hiss of a can opening behind me. Another beer. Just the thing to calm her down. I slam my door as I enter, kicking a rumpled shirt aside. She won't check in on me. She'll just drink until she passes out.

I grab my phone off the bedside table, shoving it in my pocket, sitting on my bed to tug on a pair of sneakers. If I hurry, I can still catch Cat. I shove open my window, clambering out onto the fire escape. It's not the first time I've crept out, but it's the first time I've been in a hurry. My feet rattle on the narrow metal steps, rounding flight after flight until I can slide down the ladder, steel freezing my hands. I drop the last few feet, landing heavily. I round the dumpster that blocks half the alley, jogging out to the front of my building, a cramp in my side digging at me, angered by my haste. "Cat."

She's seated on the kerb, elbows resting on her drawn up knees, face buried in her hands, and I slow my jog as I get near, feet slapping the ground heavily, a tear in my voice. "I'm sorry."

Cat peers at me through parted fingers, sniffing, and I offer her a hand, helping her stand. She managed to get shoes on, at least. She swipes a hand across her reddened eyes, taking a shaky breath, and I tilt her head up, fingers planted under her chin. "Hey, are you okay?"

She manages a little nod, and I let my hand fall away. "Was... was that your mom?" Cat says in a soft, broken voice, cheeks wet with tears.

I shrug, kicking at the ground, a pebble skittering across the pavement. "Yeah. Don't listen to what she says. I don't."

Cat's lower lip trembles. "She's scary."

I'm reminded again of how much a child she is, how sensitive she is, and right now, that fucking anger pulsing through me hates it. It just wants to tell her to grow up, to stop being such a baby. But I push it down, shove it into a hard little ball, and wrap my arms around Cat, pulling her close. She lets out a little sob against my shoulder, and I hope she doesn't notice how stiff my arms are, how straight I'm holding my body. But she just melts closer around my body, ignoring my stiffness, and I feel myself relax slowly, that little ball of anger curled and buzzing inside me. Not gone, but under control. "I just wanna go home." She sniffs, voice muffled against my shoulder, blue material of my shirt stained dark with her tears.

I sigh heavily, chest burning. "I know." I just want to do something. I just want to go and beat some kid up who doesn't look at me the right way, I want to go smash some glass, vandalise something. I want to beat this anger out of me until it's lying bloodied on the ground. The last thing I want to do is babysit Cat while she cries and mopes. But for the first time, I can feel where that rage is clouding my brain. It's not mixed into every breath like it usually is. The brief time without it was like having a sheet ripped away, having the clouds over my brain part, when I didn't even realise they were there. But I can feel them now, stroking sparks over my brain, infecting every thought. I can sift it out, just a little. "We'll go to the Groovy Smoothie, you can call your Mom, okay?"

Cat nods, pulling back, a tentative smile on her face. "You're so nice, Sam."

I stare at her for a moment, fingers clenching in the material of her shirt, ribs running under my palms, so fragile. "No, I'm not."

By the time we reach the Groovy Smoothie, Cat's cheer is back, grating against me. The darkness hides most of my annoyance, and I make the right sounds when she glances over. The tears on my shirt have dried as I sit her down at a table, slicking a smile over my face. "I'll just be a minute, okay?"

Cat nods, a bright smile on her face, and I slip away to the bathroom, pushing open the painted wooden door heavily. The tap hisses as I turn it, cold water pouring into the basin, and I wash my face and scrub my hands until they sting from the chill, but it doesn't do any good. I still have this restless writhing in me, this rage that wants to be let loose, that curls my fist until my knuckles strain white. It pisses me off that I can't get rid of it, and I pace over the aqua tiles, sneakers squeaking on the damp floor. I roll my shoulders, hands clenching and unclenching, until I can't stand it anymore, grunting and throwing a fist into the tampon machine fixed against the wall. I hit it again, and again, until the plastic front is cracked, jagged edges slicing my knuckles with every hit, metal sides tremoring, a few tampons rattling free and pattering to the ground. I raise my fist again, panting, only to let it drop in disgust, knuckles starting to ache and pulse. I examine the damage, face feeling flushed, hair sticking to my face. My index and middle knuckles are bright with blood, swelling from the multitude of little cuts. I wiggle my fingers, joints feeling stiff and shocked, blood sticking them together, threading over my palm. But I feel better. I feel calmer, and that twisting anger in me has subsided for the moment.

I wash my hands off, soap stinging the fresh cuts on my knuckles, and I grit my teeth at the pain and scrub harder, getting every trace of blood off. My right hand is throbbing as I turn the tap off, blood welling shallowly, droplets of water diluting it pink, and I rip off a ream of paper towel and hold it to them, yanking the door open. I walk out into silence, the half a dozen or so people turning their heads away from me and starting an uneasy chatter, T-Bone approaching me cautiously, a stick speared with bananas held out like a peace offering. "Your tampon machine is broken." I say flatly, swatting the stick out my face.

I sit with a grunt, Cat staring with wide eyes, seated across from me. "Sorry." I say bluntly, red started to bleed through the paper towel stuck to my knuckles. She reaches a hand out as if to touch them, where my hand is resting, curled on the brightly coloured table.

"Did you get angry at the wall?" She plucks at my fingers carefully, spreading my hand out flat and glancing up at me. "Did it have something bad written on it?"

I shake my head, wincing as she tugs at the paper towel, touch cautious. "Tampon machine."

She nods solemnly, leaning in. "It's okay." She glances from side to side, as if she's telling me a little secret. "I don't like 'that time' either." Cat giggles, making little quotation marks in the air before pulling back, hands sweeping her hair forward. I wonder if anything really keeps her down for long.

I shed the smile that threatens to creep onto my lips, gesturing to two tall cups beside Cat. "You got us smoothies?"

Cat nods enthusiastically, sliding one over. "I thought you might be thirsty..." She trails off, looking at my abused hand. "Or hurty."

"Thanks." I flex my hand before bringing the smoothie over to me, taking a short sip, eyebrows digging down. I really don't get her at all. She's so easily upset, yet I come out with a bloody hand, and she's not phased at all. It seems wrong to be so confused about her, to know so little about what goes on in her head, when I know so much about her body now. So much about what she can do. About what I can do to her. I swallow hard, blueberry-flavoured smoothie sliding down my throat, and it seems so unreal, seems so unbelievable that just hours ago, she was naked on top of me, her fingers inside me, and now we're just chatting like everything's normal. Like nothing happened. It seems like something should've changed, like I should love her, or not be able to stand her, or something. But there's just this_ like_, that throbs over the anger and makes me contain myself around her. The only other person I feel that around is Carly, but it's different. My stomach drops. Carly. Shit, she must be worried sick. I dig around in my pocket, yanking out my phone, Cat taking a dainty sip of her smoothie across from me. It's still switched off. "You rang your parents? They're on their way?"

Cat nods, hands circled around her cup, head lowered. "They sounded mad." She says softly, eyes closed.

"It's pretty late. They're just worried."

Cat chews at her lip, raising her head, eyebrows turned up. "Sam... about what your Mom said..."

"Hey, I told you not to listen to her. She's a fucking alcoholic." My voice comes out sharp, and Cat flinches as the curse word leaves my mouth. I soften my voice, lowering it. "Just forget about it. It doesn't matter."

Cat nods, raising her cup to her mouth again, sipping at the straw.

"I've just gotta make a call, okay? I'll only be a minute." I touch her hand lightly as I stand, switching my phone on as I cross to the exit, slipping outside. The chill in the air bites at me, pavement shadowed blue, eating at the square of light the Groovy Smoothie throws out. I dial the number, holding the phone to my ear, rolling my knuckles again in front of my eyes. She picks up on the fourth ring.

"Sam?"

"Hey Carls. Whatcha up to?"

"What am I up to? I've been ringing you! Why didn't you answer? Your phone didn't even ring!"

I shift uneasily. "I was... with Cat."

"Doing what?" A moment of silence. Then Carly's voice, more impatient. "What were you doing with her?"

"Nothing. Just... stuff."

"Stuff?" I can almost hear the raised eyebrow in her tone.

"Just stuff. Look Carly, can I stay over tonight?"

She laughs, voice incredulous. "What? You skip school, avoid my calls, and then just ring me up asking if you can stay over? Sam, are you high?" She pauses. "Wait, _are_ you high?"

"No! I just... it's really important. I can't go home tonight."

Carly's voice softens. "What happened?"

My mouth twists, knuckles throbbing as my hand curls into a fist again, rapping against my leg. "I don't wanna talk about it. I just really need somewhere to stay tonight." It's not the first time I've made this sort of call to her. Carly understands the situation with my mother better than anyone else. But I don't tell her everything. I'm not sure she really wants to know everything. She doesn't ask much, just accepts when I tell her I need to stay over. I wonder if her imagination is worse than the reality, or if it doesn't even come close.

"It's okay, you can stay. I'll leave the door unlocked. But come talk to me before you go to sleep, okay? I'm... I'm worried about you, Sam. You're my best friend, and I don't know what's going on with you."

I let out a long breath, head lowering. "I know."

"Promise me we'll talk."

"Yeah, yeah."

"_Sam_."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, eyes closing. "Okay! I promise."

I end the call with a sigh, phone slipping back into my pocket. I open my eyes as I hear the door of the Groovy Smoothie open, a whoosh of warm air rushing over me. Light pours out over Cat's hair, running gilt fingers over the ruby locks, stained almost purple by the darkness.

"Did I interrupt your call?" Cat's eyebrows turn up worriedly.

I shake my head, running a hand through my blonde curls. "No, it's over. What are you doing out here? It's cold."

Cat's points down the street, arms folding against the chill. "My Mom rang while you were out here. She's waiting."

I squint down the street, trying to catch a glimpse of glowing red tail-lights without success. "Why'd she park so far down?"

Cat licks her lips, taking a few tiny steps forward, shoulders shrugging, face turned away from me. My eyebrows furrow down. It's not like Cat to avoid a question. I purse my lips, thinking back. That's not entirely true. I learned in her room that there's some things she's hesitant to answer. But I wonder why this is one. It's a simple question. I shrug mentally. I'm reading too much into it. Cat's probably just quiet because she's tired. She's been through a lot today. I glance down at the blood-soaked paper towel clinging to my knuckles. So have I.

Cat turns back to me, the planes of her face lined and sculpted by the yellow light of the Groovy Smoothie, blue shadows staining where it doesn't spill. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Even in the shifting light, it's hard to miss the hope in her face. It still confuses me. I don't think things could've gone worse, but she's still sticking by me, she's still happy to see me. She's still not seeing me for who I really am. My eyes flick down to my shifting shoes. But she's already seen more of me than anyone. I nod, looking back at her, a soft smile spreading across her face. And then her arms are sliding around me, hands linking behind my neck, and she's giving me a soft, slow kiss that feels far too intimate, far too drugging, and my hands are flush on her waist, already moving there instinctively. My knuckles twinge as they flex on her slim waist, and I wince, breaking the kiss, Cat pulling back, her hand taking mine and bringing it to her mouth. She kisses my fingers softly, just before my knuckles, before lowering my hand, fingers slipping away from mine as she turns.

I feel a soft twist inside me, hand reaching out to circle her wrist, Cat turning back, head tilted. "Wait." I pull Cat back to me, other hand slipping around her waist again. I hesitate a moment before her, lips hovering before hers, and it's Cat that closes the gap, that meets me softly, a smile curving her lips. I press closer against her, eyes shut tight, lips moving hotly, and it makes my head spin anew. Kissing her isn't like kissing Freddie, like kissing any other guy. Those moments were hard, pressed lips and fumbling hands, but this... this is soft. Her lips fit against mine so well, move so gently, so sincerely. It's not an awkward first kiss, a hurried second and third kiss. It's patient, and perhaps what gets me most of all, is that it's intimate. It's vulnerable. It makes me forget everything around me, just for a moment, but it does. I break the kiss reluctantly, breath caught in my throat. "Okay." I run my tongue out over my lips, hands slipping from her hips. "You can go." My voice is husky, coming out gruffer than I want it to, but Cat smiles anyway, giving a little giggle.

"See you tomorrow, Sam." She gives a little wave before the darkness swallows her, and I let out a long breath, tasting her strawberry smoothie on my lips.

It's been a long day. I turn in the direction of Carly's, feet starting to move wearily. I swear I could find her place from almost anywhere in the city, instinctively. I hug my arms to me, moving in and out of the sickly streetlights, the occasional car roaring past, the night chill starting to eat into my bones. I realise at some point that that anger that hummed inside me, coiled into a tight sphere, has disappeared, eased by Cat's lips, numbed by my knuckles. I jog across the street, breath puffing from me. I should feel tired, but mostly I just feel like my skin's crawling, like it's buzzing with all these thoughts that just want to come out, that want to hum and gossip around my ears, and all of them are _Cat, Cat, Cat_. Like if I opened my mouth to speak, that's all that would pour out. A red river of her. How she feels, how she smells, how her back arches, how she laughs. How all these things I know now, things I never intended to know, are bursting out of my brain, and it's overwhelming me. I wonder what Carly will think when-

I freeze, feet almost tripping over themselves. Shit. Carly. I promised her we'd talk. She's gonna want to know about Cat, about what happened with my mom, about... about everything. My stomach shifts sickly. Cat might be all on that's on my mind, all that's crawling in my veins, but... can I really tell Carly that... that we... that I slept with her? I've shared everything with Carly, ever since we were little, but I've always steered clear of anything that was... well, girly. Anything romantic, that showed I have a heart. I mean, I know Carly knows I have one, but... I just don't like to talk about that stuff with anyone. I'm not soft, I'm not sweet, not in words and not in actions. But I was with Cat. I was soft, and I was sweet, and I was everything I'm not, and it felt good. Maybe I can tell Carly, maybe not everything, but maybe I can tell her some things. I frown, steps slower now, hesitant, taking me closer and closer to Carly's apartment. What will she think? I realise I honestly don't know. Carly's always supported me before, but this is big. This is huge. This is vulnerable, and it was hard enough to make myself that way with Cat. Carly's too important to risk that with. At least Cat made herself vulnerable too, at least we both could've been hurt. I can't lose Carly, I can't.

I think for a moment about just going somewhere else, about maybe breaking into the school and sleeping there, or going to some all night fast food place and sitting over a cup of coffee. It wouldn't be the first time. But Carly's already expecting me, and I've jerked her around too much this week already. I reach her building with a sick stomach, tongue running out over my lips and bringing me a reminder of Cat. I'm not gonna think about this too much. Whatever happens, happens. It's the same reasoning that brought me tonight. A wry smile curves my lips. And look how that turned out.

I push open the main door, light spilling onto me. At least I'll have Cat tomorrow. But even a part of me is worrying that that's such a comfort.

**/**

**A/N: As always, here is the part where I crawl on my knees and beseech you to review. Why? I hear you ask, talking aloud to yourself for some reason. Why should I review, you know your story is good/bad/purple, you wrote the damn thing. And then you spit, soiling your carpet, but confident in having taught me a lesson.**

**Well, I beg and plead because your sweet words are like pets on the head of a puppy dog to me. And much like a dog, I can't judge the quality of a story. Feedback is important.**

**When you read my fic, you climb onboard the demondreaming express, and it's your lovely words that tell me "MOAR ANGST IN THE FURNACE. THEY WANT LESS CHICKEN SMUT DINNERS AND MORE BEEF CUDDLING MEALS. IF ANOTHER FICTRAIN LEAVES TORONTO AT MIDNIGHT, TRAVELLING AT 190mph, HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE FOR A MOTH TO EVOLVE TO RIDE ON IT?"**

**And such things like that. So you should review, just so it'll stop me talking. Also, I don't have a license to drive a train, so... you know, hang on.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Victorious and iCarly are neither owned, nor catered by me. All pizza is mine, and not at all affiliated with any food services found on the studio lots.**

**/**

Carly's door is unlocked when I reach it, and I slip in almost soundlessly, light still left on. I can hear Spencer's soft snores, issuing from the direction of his room. It's funny, but he turns bright red every time you mention him snoring. It's one thing he never admits to. It's fun to tease him about, really. His voice gets all high-pitched.

I cross to Carly's kitchen, yanking the fridge door open, wincing as my knuckles remind me that they're less than well. That paper towel is dried and hardened, wrinkled over my knuckles, red starting to turn a rusty brown. It's gonna hurt like fuck to take it off. I rummage around in the fridge, pulling out a plate of half eaten ham and sitting it on the counter, followed by some slices of cheese. It's almost instinct now, to search for food at Carly's. My stomach's basically been trained for it. It usually starts rumbling as soon as I hit the hall outside her door. And frankly, it feels good to concentrate on something simple like this. To just focus on putting a sandwich together. It feels normal, it feels familiar, and this night has felt anything but. I feel rubbed raw, nerves frayed, and so sensitive. I feel... I _feel_, and it's not anger, it's not frustration. No, those feelings are there, deep down, but there's something else, and it's warm and lays close to my spine, curled up like a cat, and I'm not sure what to call it yet, but it feels good. It feels nice.

"Sam?"

Carly's voice is soft, and I turn, seeing her poised on the stairs, purple pyjama pants on, along with a pink penny tee.

"Hey kiddo." I pick up my sandwich in one hand, taking a messy bite, obliterating the taste of the smoothie that lingered on my tongue.

Carly descends the rest of the stairs, bare feet audible on the wooden floor. Her eyes widen, and I duck my hand behind my back, twisting away, but her hands are already reaching behind me, circling around my wrist and tugging my bruised knuckles forward. She looks from them to me, and I swallow hard, smoky ham and wadded bread sliding down my throat thickly. "Sam-" She breathes, eyebrows dug down. "What did you do? Did you get in a fight?"

I try to force a smile across my face. "Not with anything living."

Her coffee-coloured eyes narrow. "You didn't... you didn't hit Cat, did you?"

I choke on the bite of sandwich I'm taking, spluttering. "_No_! God Carly, no! What do you think I am?"

Her mouth twists as she leads me to the sink, fingers gentle on my wrist. "I don't know." She shrugs, twisting the tap on. She looks at me for a moment, eyes pensive. "I really don't know anymore." She thrusts my hand under the cold water, slowly heating up, and I wince as it stings my shredded knuckles, teeth gritted. "Stay here. I'm gonna get some stuff to clean you up."

I nod obediently as she releases my hand, turning away from me to cross the living room. I eat the rest of the sandwich quickly, stinging from my knuckles subsiding, paper towel softening under the torrent of warm water. I lick my fingers as Carly returns, small bottle and box of bandaids in her hands. She peels the water-logged paper towel away almost painlessly, thumbs gentle as they rub away the dried blood coating my knuckles, until all that's left are nearly invisible slices, that grow and shrink as I flex my hand. She turns the tap off, patting my knuckles dry with a tea towel. "This is going to sting." She warns as she picks the small bottle up.

I hiss as she squeezes a few droplets onto each ruptured knuckle, before plastering a bandaid over it. "Was it your mom?" She says softly, peeling the adhesive off another bandaid before sticking it down, eyes focussed on her work.

"No. Yes. Sort of."

She releases my hand, arms falling limp to her sides. "Sam, what's been going on with you?"

I run my newly-patched up hand through my hand, almost chuckling. "That's a big question, Carls."

She licks her pink lips, palms turning out. "I've got time."

She leads me to her room, switching lights off as she goes, until hers is the only one still lit up. Her room's so bright. It's kind of like... I chew my lip, a flash of ruby entering my mind. And since when did I make comparisons _to_ Cat instead of from her?

I sit on Carly's windowseat, a transparent ghost of me reflected in the window as I draw my knees up, cross-legged. Carly mimics the action on the other end, hands resting on her knees. "Well?" She says after a moment, hand combing her brunette hair forward in a familiar gesture.

I shrug, tearing my eyes back to my lap. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Why don't you start with Cat? Why are you spending so much time with her?"

And the words are there, poised on the edge of my tongue. _I kissed her, I fucked her, I still want to._ But I just can't. I want to spill them, have them gush from me like some vital fluid. But all that's running through my head is; _What if people find out?_ What if they find out? I have a reputation, and fucking girls isn't part of it. A girl. A sweet, airheaded girl, who's as fucked up as me. And it's not that I'm ashamed of what I did with her, it's just... I am when I think of anyone else knowing. I don't want all my problems pinned on being gay. I don't want people to feel they're superior just because I'm a dyke. I don't even know if I am, I don't even care. I'll figure it out later. But I can't take that. I can't take a million people like my mom, sneering down their nose at me like they're better. No matter how many times you beat those people up, their minds never change. That fucking superiority in their eyes never fades. "I... like her." I say lamely instead, nails digging into my knees.

Carly raises an eyebrow, leaning forward. "That's it? You like her? Come on Sam, you've gotta give me a little more than that."

I feel my shoulders tense up like there's some invisible string tugging at them, twisting them tight. "We almost got caught by the cops." I say it just to distract Carly, because at least this isn't something she's going to be surprised by, at least this isn't something I have to worry about everyone knowing.

Carly's shoulders drop, a hurt expression growing on her face. "Don't you even care?"

I lift my head, hands stilling from where they pick at my shoes. "Of course I care. I don't wanna go to juvie. I don't wanna leave you alone with Fredbag. He'd like that too much."

She lets out a liquid breath. "I thought you were trying."

I lean forward, trying to get closer to her. "I am. I really am, Cupcake. But..." I lick my lips, glancing away. "It's hard."

She looks at me sceptically, eyes rimmed red. "'It's hard'? What's so hard about it Sam? You just don't break the law."

"I-it- it just makes me feel-" My tongue's tripping over itself, fingers twisting together and tugging at each other like I'm trying to pinch the skin off, strip to something real.

"What Sam, what does it make you feel? Does it make you feel tough? Does it make you feel bad? Tell me what's so great about it!"

"-_Free_, Carly. It makes me feel free. I'm so sick of all this fucking pressure." My fingers claw at my temples, sharp on my scalp, spit hissing at my lips, pulled back in a rictus. "I'm so sick of all this responsibility. I just..." My shoulders drop, hands stopping their scrabbling to drop in my lap, face relaxing. "I just want things to be like they were." I look at Carly's stunned face, a half-smile on my face. "I just want it to be like it was when we were kids. When it was just us against them. And now it's just me, and you're different, and I've stayed the same, and I can't be what everyone needs me to be. I can't be the person you keep expecting me to be." The words crawl out of my chest, coarse and rough, scratching my throat on the way out, and this is what it feels like to be Cat. To let your feelings show. It doesn't feel good.

"Sam." Carly's voice is soft, cautious, legs sliding off the edge of the seat so she can shuffle closer to me, a hand reaching to cover mine. "I don't want you to be anyone. All I want is Sam. You're my best friend." Her chocolate eyes scan my face, hand squeezing mine. "Forever. I mean that. I just don't want you to ruin your life. I don't want to lose you." She sighs, face turning away from me. "I wish we could still be kids too, Sam. But things change, and you can't help it. All you can do is change with it."

I stare at her hand covering mine, a thick feeling in my throat. "What if you can't change?"

She stands, her hand sliding away from me. "I don't know, Sam. I... I don't know. You get left behind, I guess." Carly hunkers down beside me suddenly, brushing a lock of hanging blonde hair away from my cheek. "Hey. You remember when we were kids, and we used to go up on the roof? We used to go in that pigeon coop, and look for eggs, even though there never were any."

A smile twitches my face. "Old man Wilson always used to yell at us to leave his 'dang pidgins' alone."

She nods slightly, hand warm on my shoulder. "And then one day, we went up there, and the pigeons were gone. Do you remember that?"

"Yeah."

"And Spencer told us old man Wilson had died. The last thing he did was let the pigeons go. He knew it was coming, so he went up, and he opened the door to the coop. He let them be free." She says it like it's some important thing, like this is a fairy tale with a moral at the end, like 'don't talk to strangers' or 'finish your vegetables'.

I shrug, confused. "So?"

"So if he hadn't went with that change... if he'd fought it, those pigeons would've died. And maybe he couldn't accept it, but he dealt with it."

I furrow my eyebrows down. "So you're saying I should die?"

Carly laughs, shaking her head, brunette hair tickling over her shoulders. "I'm saying that maybe you shouldn't fight so hard. Maybe you shouldn't worry so much about being someone. Maybe you should just be you. Let your pigeons free!"

I grin at her, shoulders relaxing. "You know it's not that easy, right?" I hate to admit it, but Carly has a point. But then, it's so easy to put something in words, but so much harder to do it. I want to be... I want to be happy. I want to be able to choose _not _to break the law. I want to have that freedom instead of being forced from action to action by my own insecurities, my own stress. But even now, I can't tell her about Cat. I can't admit to this thing that means something, because I'm scared of what she'll think I am. I don't want her idea of me to change. I like the image I've built, even if it's hardened around me, and formed an armour too small for me to exist in. And I'd stay in it if I could, but it's suffocating me.

She nods enthusiastically, standing. "I know. But it's a start. You're a hard clam to open, Sam." Her gaze switches to bandaid-ed hand, plucking at my shoelaces. "How's your hand feeling?"

I shrug, legs unfolding. "Better." I yawn widely, scratching at my stomach as I pull myself to my feet.

"You want to crash? Anything else you want to spill?"

I shake my head tiredly, the events of the day catching up with me suddenly. "Don't wanna talk anymore. Just wanna sleep."

Carly laughs, shoving me in the shoulder lightly. "Okay. You want to borrow some pyjama pants?"

I nod, Carly turning away to move to her dresser, my fingers starting to fumble with the button to my shorts, a shiver running through my stomach at the memory of the last time my pants were undone. My hooded eyes snap open as the button pops free, realisation sparking my brain. "Um, Carly, can I borrow some underwear as well?"

Carly looks at me suspiciously, eyebrow cocked, and I smile sheepishly, pants half-undone. She shakes her head after a moment, moving back to rummage in the drawer. "I'm not even gonna ask."

/

**A/N: So maybe this chapter didn't turn out _quite _how you thought it would. Like that surprise birthday party you went to, but the surprise was there was no birthday, just a very angry family of badgers who somehow, among their snarls and bites, managed to sling racial slurs at you, despite not knowing English.**

**But that was still better than that Christmas party I went to. Owls. Owls everywhere.**

**So you should review, while I remove some talons from my back :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Dan Schneider's, except some gum he threw in the trash one day.**

I walk into school uncomfortably, itching to pick at Carly's lacy underwear that are currently riding up under my shorts. I guess part of my discomfort is over... well, seeing Cat again. My shoulders are set as I enter the halls, bag slung over an arm, loosely. I'm half expecting everyone to stop their chatter, to pause and stare, to start laughing. I feel like what I did with Cat is some stain on me, marking my skin for everyone to see, some tattoo written blindingly large. _I fucked her_. It's stupid to think that, I know it is. Even Carly doesn't suspect, and she spent the night curled against my spine, murmuring softly in her sleep. I still had Cat's scent on me then. I scrubbed it away in the morning, awake before Carly for once, stealing into her shower while Spencer's snores still softly sounded. I turned the water so hot it steamed, masked everything behind a shield of white, the smell of Carly's shampoo, her body wash, replacing the traces of Cat that lingered on me.

Last night seems like... like some far away memory. Like recalling a movie you remember watching, a long time ago. It doesn't seem like it was just yesterday. It seems episodic, fragmented, daydreams in my head that never actually happened. A part of me wishes it was. What happened wasn't me. I might be the badass, the one who breaks the law, who doesn't give a fuck, who doesn't even understand the word 'respect', but when it comes to love, physical or otherwise... I'm trailing far behind. I mean, I've had your standard gropings, with slimy tongues and hard hands and broken breath, but what happened with Cat was... it was different. And not just how far we went. How it wasn't just lips, and fingers, and skin. It was my heart, my blood, my bones. It was everything. It sunk into my skin, and set my nerves on fire. It turned me into something shaking and bare, and that's terrifying. I pride myself on my toughness, on being feared, on not feeling one little pang of conscience for anything I do. No one can hurt Sam Puckett, she's made of steel. But Cat crept inside my armour, and coiled up inside, warm and small, and I can't have her in me. I can't have her underneath my skin. Only Carly's allowed there, and it took years before I even let her under my fingernails, for fear of being vulnerable.

I shove past a kid to my locker, ignoring their soft whine, fingers twisting at the combination. They stutter in their twisting, my brow furrowing as the lock remains closed. I slam a hand on the grey metal, jaw set, and it only serves to remind me that my hand is still pretty fucked up, despite Carly's efforts. I hit it again, just to feel better, thin-skinned door rattling loudly, juddering in it's frame.

As a Puckett, you learn pretty quickly that the world doesn't give a shit about you. That even if our blood runs thick, it runs cold. There's loyalty in our family, but not much love. You show weakness, it gets exploited. You get teased for it, shoved around. If you cry, you're a crybaby, if you lose a fight, you're a weakling, if you get good grades, you're a smartass. There's no way to win in my family, but with fists. You shut your emotions off, because they're useless. They're what make you snitch on your family when you're arrested, they're what make you go back for someone left behind, they're what make you weak. I guess it's what made it so easy for my dad to leave. He couldn't love any of us. That's not what a Puckett does. The closest thing to love is... trust, really. And the rest is just getting someone knocked up. Melanie was smart, she got away, but my mom already had her claws in me, and I liked being a Puckett. I still do. The name doesn't inspire respect, but it does inspire fear. You've always got someone to back you up. You're never alone, but you're always lonely.

Carly's hand circles my wrist, from where she's walked up beside me. She lowers my clenched fist away from the locker door, eyebrows furrowed, but there's a softness there, caused by our talk. Her fingers twist at the lock, moving quickly from one number to the other, lock clicking open smoothly. She puts a hand on my shoulder briefly, palm warm and comforting, before turning to her own locker. I almost find myself scowling at her instinctively, shaking the burgeoning expression from my face.

Carly's the only thing that's broken through, really. She's the only one that's stopped me from shutting down completely, from becoming like my mom. She's my conscience, except I actually listen to her. Sometimes. She's the closest thing to love I have, and I'd choose her over the loyalty of my family any day. She doesn't make me feel alone, she doesn't make me feel cold. She just treats me like... like me. Like whatever I am, whatever weaknesses I may have, are okay by her. She's not evaluating me for my skill, for my profitability. She just loves me for being Sam, even if that person is chained down and chopped up.

But now someone else has slipped in between my ribs, sharp as a dagger, painless until she twists. Cat's in there, and she got there with a touch, with a kiss, with a soft giggle, and I don't want her there. I never let her in, I never wanted to. I can't help but resent it, how easy it was for her. She didn't even try really. It was all me, with my stupid shaking heart and fizzing blood and dumb thoughts. She doesn't even know me, and I don't know her, and what's more, I shouldn't want to. There's a chink in my armour that I never knew existed, and it's too late to mend it now.

I can feel the dagger twist when I hear a giggle, soft as mist behind me. Warm arms encircle me from behind, hands fisting in my t-shirt as Cat hugs me, warm cheek pressing between my shoulderblades. "Guess who!"

I twist in her grip, Carly looking bemused beside me, shutting her locker door gently. She's back in her own clothes now, a girly top that's all straps and silky material, and a pair of white shorts that show how tan her legs really are. And how toned. I tear my eyes back up to her face, glancing over at Carly. "Get off, Cat." My voice is gruff, hands grabbing her forearms more roughly than they need to, needing to peel her warm grip off me. It feels too good, to have someone treat me like anyone else. But I'm not anyone else, I'm Sam Puckett, and I can't have that sort of thing. Cat has to realise that.

Cat's eyebrows are crinkling, dipping down in innocent hurt as the bell rings harshly, and I swear I can almost see a lip quiver, and why, _why_ does it make me want to hug her instead of hitting her? We stand there, face to face but so far apart, as Carly looks us both up and down, shrugging her bag on. "You guys coming to class?"

"In a minute. I've gotta talk to Cat first." I keep my gaze on Cat as I speak, just in case she tries some other move, some other gesture that says _more-than-friends. _And it seems so stupid that I can't trust her with this, when I already stumbled into trusting her with my body.

Carly looks at me doubtfully as she moves away, Freddie jogging up next to her from where he was cloistered near some lockers with Gibby, throwing a glance back at me before murmuring softly to Carly, a question mark in his eyebrows.

"Sam?" Cat's voice is bruised, confused, and I shuffle back into the cold steel of my locker for a moment, stealing strength from the rigid metal.

"We've gotta talk. Follow me." She nods hesitantly, hands brushing her ruby hair forward in a nervous gesture, and I almost want to snap at her to stop it, to stop being so... _her_. But it's not her I'm annoyed with, it's me, for being affected by her.

I lead her outside, to a quiet corner that catches the morning sun, hidden away from the sight of roving teachers. I've got a chill on my skin I can't seem to shed. I lick my lips nervously, because for once, I have to use my words, and not my fists, and my words aren't any more refined than punches. "Look, Cat... you can't go around doing that stuff."

She tilts her head at me, brown eyes wide and puzzled. "What stuff?"

I look around despite myself, as if I expect there to be someone with their ears, their eyes, fixed on the edge of a corner to spy on us. The bricks are warm where I lean, baked by the high sun, and I let the feeling bleed into my spine, sizzle along the vertebrae. I cross my arms to keep her out. "You can't just hug me. You can't just... act like you know me."

"But I do know you." Cat's voice puts a soft question mark at the end, like she's not quite sure anymore.

"No, you don't. You know... you know someone else. I have a reputation, Cat, and it's not as a fucking dyke. If people find out that we fu- that we're together, it'll ruin everything."

"Reputation..." She echoes, like she's heard it before. "Then why did you..." She licks her lips, looking down. "Last night?"

I wish I could say. But I've rarely been able to explain my actions, and these ones are a complete puzzle for me. What made me kiss her, that first time, while we huddled in dark alley, clinging to each other. Was it just the adrenaline? Maybe initially, but that doesn't explain why afterwards, when we got back to my place, I couldn't keep my hands off her. It doesn't explain why I can't just say 'fuck off' to her now. "I don't know, Cat. I just-"

"Don't want me." She nods, like it's already a fact, and the tears that begin to well in her eyes come silently, without fanfare.

I put an exasperated hand to my head, fingers tangling in the coiled blonde locks. "It's not that. Not exactly. But I just... I can't have people knowing. I'm not a lesbian, Cat. I can't be."

Cat gives her head a little shake, hands twisting on the strap of her bag. "You don't have to be. You don't. It's okay."

Some desperate little hitch in her voice twangs at my heart, and I push off the wall, a hand reaching out to brush a silent tear away. She's not even fighting, really. She's not getting angry. I could just fuck her over right now, and leave her thinking that all I wanted was sex. And if I was the me I've built myself up to be, I would. But I'm starting to see how much hollow bravado that girl really is. I'm not the unfeeling, badass, tough-as-nails person I used to want to be. And I can't be, no matter how hard I try. Because I do feel, and being badass and tough doesn't seem to matter so much when I'm around Cat. I'm not trying to impress her. She doesn't seem to care what I am, and maybe it's stupidity, because she's the only one besides Carly who doesn't, and she doesn't have the history that Carls and I do.

"Can I hug you now?" Cat asks in a quiet voice, hands held up in front of her, like she's scared they might betray her and reach out anyway. A little part of, the hardest, most bitter part, tells me to cut her down, to become the person I put so much effort into trying to be. But being that person is making me miserable, and here's this girl that doesn't see that mask, who just sees straight through. And maybe even Carly doesn't look that far into me.

"Yeah." I say shortly, and it still feels weird to have someone not afraid to hug me, who actually wants to. But it's a good kind of weird.

Her hair tickles my nose, smelling of strawberries, and my arms circle around her so naturally, so perfectly, like it's an action I've done a hundred times before. And it seems so logical, to press my lips to hers when her head tilts up. It seems so right to lean into her, and breath in a scent as heavy as food, as satisfying as sleep. It feels good to just lose myself for a moment with her. To close my eyes against the name _Puckett_, that's branded into my flesh, and just be nameless person, kissing someone it feels right to kiss.

My voice is slow in coming after I pull back, blood feeling thick and heavy in my veins, like it's rushed towards her, and is reluctant to be pulled back into my heart. "I want you, but I can't." The words sting my tongue, and if I could just explain to her, maybe it'd be better. But I can't even explain to myself, fully.

Cat nods, mouth twisting. "We can be secret." She holds a finger to her lips, the beginnings of a hopeful smile starting. "We can be a crime."

My lips curve into their own wide smile, of relief, of embarrassed shame. Because if I really was the girl I built myself up to be, I wouldn't be afraid of people knowing. That girl isn't a coward, but I am. But she understands, and part of me wishes she didn't, that she'd force me into changing. I tilt her chin up again, hiding my shame in her. "We can be a crime."

/

**A/N: People say to me, they say, "How do you write these A/N's? Do you have some sort of substance abuse problem? Are you mentally unbalanced? Why are you in my house? What have you done with my children?"**

**And to that, I answer; "It just comes to me, like a lost dog, or a cockroach that takes flight, or a police officer with a warrant. Also, yes."**

**Please review. :D**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: My leg kind of hurts. Maybe I should stop jiggling it. But I like getting jiggly with it. Hm? Oh, I don't own Victorious.**

**/**

"How have you been, Sam?"

My shoulders shrug of their own accord, gaze fixed on the carpet, where I can see a solitary ant clambering it's way over the spiky fibres. I wonder where it's friends are. I wonder how it got so lost. Or maybe it's not lost, it's just running ahead of the pack. It could be a leader or a loser. I turn my gaze back to Ruben. It doesn't matter. "Fine."

Ruben purses his thin lips, bushy eyebrows stormclouds over his watery grey eyes. "Just fine?"

"Yeah." The word comes out faltering, flat, and I clear my throat a little, leaning forward and trying again. "Yeah. I am."

Ruben's eyes narrow slightly, and he leans back, leather chair groaning. "It's funny, Sam." From the way he says it, I can tell it's not going to be something funny at all. "Most people, when you ask them how they are, reply automatically." His mirrored hands part from where they tent against each other, gesturing. "'I'm fine, how are you?' 'Not bad, thanks for asking.'" His hands lower. He's got long fingers, the kind that look almost alien. They look so fragile, so fine. I could probably snap them like toothpicks. Sometimes, when I'm bored, I come up with worst – or in my case – best case scenarios. I'll plot an escape route from a room, and mark the people I'd need to take out, and the best way to do so. Ruben's wearing open-toed shoes. Start with a stomp, grab his hand when it reaches, snap a finger and kick the side of his knee. He'd be easy to take down.

"How about that." I say in a flat voice, picturing the snap of his spidery fingers, his composure lost.

"Cat missed her session last week."

"The world's biggest meatball weighed one hundred and nine pounds." Ruben eyebrows dip down in confusion. "Oh, sorry doc, I thought we were just saying random things here."

He makes a note in his book, legs crossing, the cuff of his pleated pants riding up to reveal his pale, hairy ankles. "You were seen leaving with her, Sam."

I smile at him, heart beating a tattoo over my ribs. A tattoo of denial. "Now doc, we both know that evidence is circumstantial at best. It'd never hold up in court."

"I'm not interested in court, Sam. You may have forgotten, but I'm here to keep you out of there. But I can't have you making my other patients miss their sessions. I'm sure you may not think they get anything out of it, but I can assure it's particularly cathartic for Cat."

I fight the urge to snap back, chewing my lip, and wonder, not for the first time, what's wrong with Cat. I mean, there are a whole bunch of things, but there are with everyone. I haven't seen anything so bad it'd cause a bunch of therapists to retire. Her life seems... not perfect, but alright. "Won't happen again, doc." I shift in my seat, leaning forward. "What's wrong with her?"

"We've been over this, Sam. I can't tell you."

I lean back, letting out a long breath, slumping in the chair and turning my gaze to the spiderwebbed ceiling. "Yeah, sure."

The rest of the session is par for the course. I'm a bad person and should feel bad, but that doesn't mean I can't be better. Honestly, it feels like that one time I went to church and used the confession box. Apparently Jesus doesn't want me, and I'm the child of Satan. I've never seen a priest run so fast. So naturally I took some sacramental wine and left. The only difference is in here, you replace religion with science, and not even the kind that blows stuff up. Ruben lets me go with his promise/threat that next week we'll have a breakthrough, and I wonder what he thinks he's going to find on the other side. I don't know what he expects me to be. My hands ball into loose fists as I leave his office, a scowl setting into my face. It seems like everyone wants me to change. I roll my shoulders, scowl falling away. Everyone but Cat. She smiles at me shyly as she walks in, handbag slung over her shoulder, a hand plucking at the strap. She's never asked me to change, to be better. She doesn't tell me what to do, or how I should be doing it. There's no image I'm expected to fit into with her. I'm just me, and that's neither bad nor good.

Her fingertips brush the back of my hand as I pass her, and I throw a quick glance over to her, reassured by Heather's lowered head, long-nailed fingers clacking away at her keyboard. "Groovy Smoothie after?"

"'Kay 'kay."

I wipe the grin that's spread over my face as I leave. Against all odds, Cat's good at keeping secrets. She plays it like a spy game. When we were alone in her room once, apartment empty, she even showed me the theme song she came up with, humming while striking dramatic poses. And that's something else I don't hate about her. Carly, she always calls me on my shit. When I do something wrong, I know it. It's spelled out to me pretty clearly. And treating Cat like this isn't right, even I know that. It's not fair. But she's turned this shitty situation into a game, made it so it doesn't bother her. At least, not while I'm around. Now if I can just get her to stop doing her James Bond impression... I do Sean Connery _much_ better.

The walk to the Groovy Smoothie gives me time to think. Or rather, time to worry, which is something completely new to me. I never really cared about consequences before. But Ruben's onto me and Cat, and I can't have that. I shove my hands deep in my pockets. I'm being stupid. Ruben doesn't know shit. He doesn't even know not to wear sandals with long pants. If he didn't speak in such a slow, sure voice, I wouldn't even be considering him a threat. The thought of being found out, of having the rug that covers the dust of our relationship torn away, still makes me panic, as much as I hate it. It's not that it's all the lies, no, I'm used to that. I lie just for fun half the time. It's that I'm lying because I'm scared. I'm scared of what everyone will think. I've spent too much time constructing the armour of my reputation to have it all stripped away, even if it weighs me down.

I slide into a seat, elbows propped on a circular in the corner of the Groovy Smoothie. Cat... she neutralises me. She's my opposite in every way. The only thing we have in common is our height. She's sweet where I'm sour, she's nice where I'm mean, she's a feather touch where I'm brass knuckles. We're two poles of a magnet, snapping together, and if I'd listened in science instead of picking up paperclips with them, I'd be able to explain it better. There are no clouds in Cat's sky. She cuts away the shadows that I like to hide in, and it's refreshing, to see the light. She turns me into a ghost, casts away my heavy body, and it's only when she's gone that I thud back in with a jolt. I can be whatever I want around her, and she takes it with a smile and a soft giggle. When I break her down to her little parts, I see nothing worth liking, nothing that appeals to me, only little, niggling annoyances. Her high-pitched giggle, her airy voice, her constant touching, her randomness. But somehow as a whole, I can't help but be drawn. There's something so... untouched about her. She's a blank wall I itch to vandalise, and just like the walls I graffiti, she's always wiped clean by the time I come back. She's so simple, so... so easy. I can breathe around her.

I let out a long breath, running a hand through my blonde locks. Even my compliments are insults. My armour might be tight, but it's still mine.

I nurse a smoothie as I wait for Cat, thinking over the homework I'm not going to do, and the next episode of iCarly. It feels like forever since we did one. T-Bone proffers an impaled food that I swat away, grimacing. The jingle of the bell startles me, and I twist in my seat to see a flash of red, turning towards me.

Cat's smile flickers on, stuttering, and she smooths down her blue skirt as she walks over to me. "Hey."

Cat's slow to answer, gaze fixed on the brightly coloured table. "Hi."

"How'd you go? The doc crack you?" My burgeoning smile turns to a frown at the resounding silence. I know it was an awful joke, but Cat laughs at anything.

"It went fine." Her eyes finally meet mine, strikes of chocolate so like Carly's. Especially now, covered with clouds as they are. She nods, as if to convince herself. "Fine." Her hands rest flat on the table, shaking a little as she curls them onto their sides. "Did you want a smoothie?" Her smile trembles, close to shattering, held in place by tight muscles.

I can feel the chill start to creep over my skin, shadows running their hands over me once again. Cat's sky is rumbling, and she's about to split any moment and send a torrent down. My eyebrows draw together, heavy over the bridge of my nose. "No thanks. You sure you're okay?"

Cat nods quickly, eyes darting back to the table. "Mhm." Another ominous growl of thunder. Maybe if I look close I can catch the quicksilver of lightning behind her eyes.

"Spill it, Cupcake."

Cat's eyes flick up to me sharply, widening a little. "What did you say?"

"I know you're not okay."

She shakes her head a little, red locks slipping over her shoulders. "No, not that. Well... yeah, but the other thing. Cupcake. You called me Cupcake." A smile slips onto her lips, fragile.

I lean back a little, doing a quick rewind in my mind. "Yeah. Uh... you're sweet." I _did_ call her Cupcake. It spilled from my lips so easily, with the same casualness it does when I call Carly it. "And you know," I gesture at her. "Fluffy, and stuff."

Cat smiles beatifically, lashes shielding her lowered eyes, cheeks dimpling as a hand sweeps a lock of hair behind her ear. "You gave me a nickname." Her voice is soft, almost shaking, and the meteorology of her mind is all fucked up. Stormclouds cut with sunlight, mottling the ground.

"So are you gonna tell me what's wrong, or am I going to have to tickle it out of you again?" I crack my knuckles menacingly, raising an eyebrow at Cat.

She looks at me woefully. "You bruised my ribs last time!"

"I was trying to find your funnybone." I deadpan, another beaming smile breaking out on Cat's face. Another ray of sunshine splitting those rumbling clouds. It disappears with a sigh, Cat's hands crawling together, entwining with each other.

"Can we go somewhere?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere."

I raise off my seat, hands braced on the table. "That's a big ask, Cupcake." The word slips from my tongue like silk. "You gonna tell me what the doc did to you?" I raise my clawed hands in an unspoken threat, Cat nodding quickly.

"I... I will. When we get there. Promise."

I realise that we may never get 'there', seeing as 'there' isn't even definite, and this could just be some diversion Cat's throwing at me, but I really don't think she's that cunning. Maybe she's hoping I'll forget, and she could be right. I'm not too good at caring about other people's problems, and honestly, if Cat being bummed didn't mean that my own shadows still clambered over me, I probably wouldn't be asking. But maybe she'll tell me what the doc won't, maybe she'll tell me what kind of clouds fill her usually-clear sky. And even if she doesn't say a word, it's still not a wasted afternoon.

/

**A/N: Hey there, you!**

**Yes, you.**

**What, me?**

**(this is me being you who's yelling at me, and me responding. Bear with me... with you... with _this_. Whatever)**

**Why it take you so long update lolcat**

**Oh gentle reader, eyes aching from concentrating on small print, I beseech thee to forgive me. I have recently acquired a life. A barely used one, too. I smashed a bunch of cat lives together and made a human. Also there's a dog life in there somewhere.**

**So I apologise sincerely. I've spent the time well, meowing outside of houses and chasing squirrels, and wanting to go outside, only to want to come back inside immediately. And pooping in a box. **

**I've been doing that most of all.**

**REVIEW.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: Victorious and iCarly are neither mine, nor that of my family. I have, however, had a dream in which featured these shows. I had a disclaimer at the beginning of it too.**

**/**

We end up in a park, somehow. Cat's feet lead the way, but her head is bowed, focussed on the tar-spattered concrete under our feet, her toes skirting cracks like she's scared they're a curse. My feet slap them happily. Let them break my mother's back. It'd be an improvement.

The sun's almost gone, scudding clouds stained pink against a dying blue backdrop, streetlights on the verge of flickering on. There's still enough light to see by, but everything's wet with shadows. Cat's seated in a swing, rocking slowly back and forth, chain squeaking. The last kids are being shepherded away by cloaked mothers, hands outstretched, turning quick glances back to us. The shady teenagers. I watch them go, hands shoved deep in my jeans pockets.

"You gonna talk?"

Cat jumps as I break the silence, chains rattling. "Oh."

"Oh?" I echo, pushing off the steel frame of the swingset to face her. "So are you gonna tell me what's wrong? Or am I gonna go home and be mad at you?"

Cat's eyes grow wide and she gives her head a little shake. "Don't be mad." Her voice is plaintive. "I'll tell you. I... I will. I promised." She chews her lip, hands wringing the bulky chains of the swing. "He... He said not to let it happen again." She lowers her eyes to the woodchip strewn ground.

"To not let what happen, Cat?"

"What happened in Hollywood." Cat lets out a long breath, shoes kicking at the ragged woodchips, face shielded by her magenta hair.

"And that was...?" Her vagueness is irritating me. It's not that I'm not sympathetic. I know it's hard to open up to someone. That's why I never do it. But I wish she'd just come out with it already, so I can dismiss it and she can smile and realise it doesn't matter. I'm skilled at making people forget their problems. You have to be when you're so good at causing them.

"Does it really matter?" She says softly, hands slipping down the rusty chains, pastel paint flaked off the links.

I ease into the swing next to her, kicking off and giving a tentative swing. "Sure it does. If it's bugging you, then it matters." I don't tell her it only matters until it stops bothering her. Then I couldn't give a shit. I learned my life lessons from the Lion King. You've gotta put the past behind you. It also taught me to eat bugs, but I grew out of that after a while. And to never trust my uncle.

"I... there was this girl."

My shoes send woodchips flying as I kick. "Mhm."

"And I kinda... she was... and we..."

I jerk to a stop, putting a pretend phone to my ear. "Yeah, Cat, you're cutting out here. Are you going through a tunnel?"

She gives a half smile, and I let the hand-phone drop. "I loved her." That half smile stills hangs on her lips, on the verge of dropping off, her voice soft and drifting.

I sit silent for a moment, hands on the cold chains of the swing, links trembling. "Okay." I take a chilly breath. "Did she love you?"

A small nod. "But she had a boyfriend."

Cat looks down at her feet, toes shuffling the chips of wood aimlessly, her gaze back in Hollywood. "It was a secret." She glances over at me, my fingers slipping from the chains. The streets are quiet, still, blue shadows sweeping over like a blanket, cookie cutter streetlights carving yellow pools. It was a secret. A secret like us. "She'd always say _soon, soon._ But she couldn't do it. She was scared, and I told her not to be. I told her it'd be okay, but I could see in her eyes that she was. She was always scared. She was always ticking away, _tick, tick, tick_. She'd say so many reasons. She wrote them out for me once. She filled a whole page with _no_'s. I wrote her a _yes_ list once, but she threw it away. I don't think she even read it. She told me to grow up, but I just wanted her to not be scared. To be okay. But I wasn't enough. And he was. He was always a _yes._"

"Did he find out?"

Cat shakes her head. "She was careful. She'd check everything twice, backtrack and scramble and muddy her prints. She was really smart like that." There's a note of admiration in her voice that makes my blood boil.

"Why didn't you tell him that she was cheating?"

Cat twists on the swing a little, facing me. "He was my friend too. How can you hurt someone like that?"

"She hurt you."

Cat's lower lip trembles slightly, gaze falling to the ground again. "That's different." She says softly. "Hurting him wouldn't make me better." Her fingers flex on the rusty chains, knuckles white. The words come tinged with bile, and it tastes almost like a lie.

She thought about it. She thought about telling him, about crumbling his life like hers had been. And it goes against her sweet, innocent nature so deliciously. But her sweetness never did fit her quite right. It's a size too big on her.

"This girl... it was Jade, right?" The name is awkward on my tongue, a cold block that slides out, heavy as stone. It feels like a name you should spit, before it poisons you.

Cat winces. "Yeah. Jade..." She rolls the word in her mouth, like she's savouring it, even as it sours her tongue.

"So that's why you moved? Because she broke your heart?"

Cat's dark eyes skitter away from me, ruby locks spilling over her cheek as her head turns. I can barely see the nod she gives before she pulls herself up. "It's dark." She states quietly, shadow of the swingset cutting over her shoulder.

I feel like calling her out, like pressing her for everything, but it'd be useless. I know she's holding something back. Hell, she's damming a whole river of information, but I don't feel like crumbling her in vain. No one's parents move them across the country just because they had a bad break-up. There has to be more to it. It's irritating, feeling all this stuff prickle under my skin. I want to just dig it out, pierce the skin and pluck it away. But I don't know how much there is, or even what's in there. I don't feel like dredging the river tonight. I don't want to see what it drags up, what twisted, mangled shapes it reveals. I'm not good at dealing with things. I'm good at forgetting things, at brushing over things. Carly's the problem solver, I'm the problem causer. It's the way it's always been, and it's the way I like it. Responsibility free. And I might like Cat, sure, but I'm not suddenly the world's most caring girlfriend. I'm not even brave enough to admit I'm her girlfriend to anything but shadows. And then only in a whisper.

I pull myself up off the swing, chains jangling, shadows sliding over my back as I move to her. I'm not her problem solver. I'm not her therapist. Ruben is. My job isn't to spill out her insides and try to put them back in the right order. And even if it was my job I still wouldn't go to it. What I'm best at is not caring. So I'll make her not care. I'll distract her. I'll make her forget, for tonight at least, that this Jade ever existed. That, at least, I can do.

"Hey, you wanna look at the stars?"

Cat turns to me, eyebrows furrowed.

I scan the towering buildings around us, looking for a telltale sign. "Bingo."

Cat's hand is warm, her fingers limp as my hand slides into hers, leading her to a dark apartment complex, glass front mottled with lights and twitching curtains. It's a simple matter of hammering on someone's intercom until they automatically open, door buzzing. The elevator here actually works, despite the impression the dingy carpets and fly-specked walls give. They've even got a little fuzzy-edged radio playing as Cat and I ascend, my lips finding hers under the sickly yellow light within.

Most buildings, you're not supposed to be on the roof. You have to prop a cinderblock or something in the door just to keep from getting locked out. This one's different. This one's broken, lock a mass of rust, flakes painting my hand as I open the door. When I was a kid, I used to creep up to the roof of our complex sometimes, thin shoulders wrapped in an equally thin blanket. My breath was smoke, and I'd paint the sky with it, concrete cold on my spine, hands propped behind my head. I didn't go up there to forget or anything. My life wasn't that bad; I was used to it by then. No, I just liked to be above it all. To feel like I was really alone, in this huge world. Like I was just an inch away from touching the sky. That was after Melanie was gone, away to boarding school. I didn't miss her, really. But it made me feel kind of better that she was under the same sky I was, even if she wasn't here to pick on.

Carly joined me, once. I brought her up to paint the stars with her breath, and she smiled and laid back and murmured quietly to me. But her shoulders shook and shivered, and it wasn't the same for her. She didn't look up, she looked around, earthbound. She came up for me, not for the sky. It was just another place to hang out for her. It was just a dingy, dirty, cold rooftop, and the sky was just a speckled ceiling. I didn't bring her up there again. It wasn't because I was mad, because I was bugged she wasn't like me in exactly every way, hell, half the reason I love her is because she's not. No, it was just because it wasn't important for her. It didn't mean the same. And maybe I'm just repeating my mistake with Cat, because she's just like Carly, but I'm limited in my ideas for making people feel better. Hitting them doesn't seem to work unless it's Gibby, and it's just gotten creepy. Gestures are all I have, since I never learned the words for this kind of thing.

I even tried to learn some constellations once. It was like join-the-dots in the sky. But there are so many stars, and I lose track of which dots I'm joining. It doesn't help that the city drowns a lot of them. The light bleeds into the sky, along with the pollution, but I don't mind so much. It makes it like a dream.

"The moon's so big." Cat murmurs in a quiet voice, like it doesn't feel right to be up here, so close to the sky.

I guess I must agree with her, because my voice is just as hushed. "Here, lie down." I shrug off my hoodie, laying it down on the cool concrete, gravel prickling my arms as I sit, laying back. Cat obliges, wriggling up close to me.

"You brought me up here to look at the stars." Her eyes play over my face, searching for something, like she really doesn't believe I just want to look at the sky with her. I don't know if she's expecting more, expecting something better, but it's all I have.

"Yeah. I didn't know what else to do. They're just... they're so far away. They make everything else seem small, you know? Like it's not such a big deal."

The beginnings of a smile tugs at the edge's of Cat's lips as she leans in to plant a light kiss on my cheek. "I was wrong."

I look at her, hands linked behind my head. "About what?"

She shakes her head a little, hand sliding away from my blonde curls as she rolls onto her back, directing her gaze to the sky. "You're not like her at all."

My fingers unlink, hands sliding to my sides as I raise myself a little, studying her. She's smiling, chocolate eyes caressing the stars, and maybe I was wrong too. Maybe she's not like Carly at all. Maybe that's a good thing.

She glances over at me, her hand finding mine, fingers filling the spaces between mine, and we look at the stars. We scrawl pictures on the freckled sky, our fingers painting patterns for the other to see, and we don't talk much. Even though I'm cold, goosebumps pimpling my skin, breath seeping out of my mouth, I feel warmer than I've ever been. Cat's a fire, and I'm melting the ice from my hands in front of her. For the first time, looking at the stars hasn't made me feel tiny and lonely. It's made me feel bigger and brighter than ever. I won't be like Jade. Cat deserves better.

/

**A/N: And so here we are again, at the end of another chapter. It's awkward.**

**As awkward as the time I was watching a stripper, and even got out my money before I realised it was just the next door neighbour changing. I guess the different houses and the windows and the yard and the yelling probably should have tipped me off, but I was playing sexy music (the immortal classic Everybody [Backstreets Back] by The Backstreet Boys), and sitting in a chair.**

**It seems like a pretty easy mistake to make, to me at least, so I don't know why the court's making such a big deal. I use those binoculars for birdwatching, and my neighbour has birds. On her wallpaper. And also her underwear.**

**I think somewhere in this, I'm supposed to ask you to review or something, but you can just do whatever you want. I've got bigger problems. v_v**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: Victorious and iCarly are not owned by me, but like a couple of attractive girls who approach me when I'm inebriated, I would pay a lot to see them come together. Come. Together.**

**/**

There's no passion in it when she kisses me. Passions burns, rages, but this is smouldering. This is quiet, and soft, and slow. It's glowing embers and grey ash and veins of orange, and it stirs the coals in my stomach, sending up a shower of sparks.

The air is cold, with sharp little teeth that nip at my arms, my neck, and the concrete of the roof is rough and solemn, but all of that doesn't matter when it's her perfume I breath in, and her hands that warm my skin. Cat's kissing me without intent; it's not a race to see who can get the other's clothes off first. It's not a precursor to the main event. It's just kissing, because she can, and it almost feels more intimate than anything we've done before. Without a goal to aim for, it's just her lips, and her breath, and her soft sounds that fill my mind, and they strike my heart like it's a stretched drumskin.

The stars that we stared at for so long turn back to twinkling dots, smeared around the edges by the city lights. Just holes in the sky that filter through, only there to make Cat shine, to stain her skin blue, colour her hair purple. My hand finds its way to the curve of her waist, concrete scraping my hip as I shift on my side. Her breath is soft and warm on my neck, lips touched by the cold as I find them again, and it's different. I've kissed her a million times, hard and quick, but it's always been hidden, ducked out of sight, shut in a room, crushed in a corner. We're laid out under the sky, for all the stars to see, we're huge and open, but I'm not scared. It's dark, but it's light, and it's open but it's closed at the same time. It's a twilight we can hide in, while our shapes are still seen. It's a secret guessed, not told, and it doesn't send that silt of guilt settling in my stomach, until eventually from all its tumbling it forms stones that weigh me down.

I have to keep her a secret, but it doesn't mean that I want to. She's the first person I've really had something with. The first person to make my heart beat slower but so much faster at the same time. She drives me insane, and maybe that's all love is. When you're not quite in your right mind. People do stupid things for love. I do stupid things anyway, maybe it's good that I can have a reason now. Maybe thinking I love her is the stupidest thing of all. I don't even know what love is. How are you supposed to know? How do you tell the fake from the real? Is time the only thing that can prove it? It's a problem I don't know the solution to, and I can't just glance to the person next to me and copy their answer. It keeps whatever words I might say tucked under my tongue, just in case they're wrong. If you say you love someone, you can't just take it back. Especially not with Cat. I can blame it on the stars, on her lips, on the slow, drugged beating of my heart. I'm an expert at shifting blame. But the impulse is there, and shouldn't that mean something in itself?

I can't say it. I can't. I can't do so many things because of her. Because of me. But I can't just lie here and kiss her, either. I want her to know, that maybe... maybe I do love her, I'm just not sure, but it's the closest thing I've ever had to it.

My hand fumbles with the button to her jeans, Cat's stomach shivering against my wrist.

"Sam?" She whispers, her breath feathering my cheek, a tinge of confusion staining it.

My fingers tug her zipper down, lips silencing her. "I want... I want to-" My teeth click together, cutting off my words. It's a sentence I can't finish. I want to show her, I want her to know that... that I want to make her happy. It's a thought I can't even finish constructing, but it's the only thing that makes sense right now. It doesn't matter that we're on a rooftop, that we're lying on cold concrete, icy breezes biting at us. It's because of that, that I want to so badly. I can't kiss her in front of anyone, but here we're under an audience of billions. "Cat... I want-"

She cuts me off with a kiss, hips jerking as my fingers graze her underwear. "It's okay." She kisses me again, lashes matted, blots of darkness on her face. "It's okay."

She repeats it again, warm hand on my cheek as my fingers slip under the waistband of her underwear, finding her quickly. There's a sense of urgency, a need to make her see this thing I can't even understand. To paint it out in strong strokes and sharp slashes and wait for her to interpret what it is I'm trying to say. But abstract art is so subjective, and I'm not even sure of what I'm trying to say.

My fingers aren't soft, aren't gentle, jerky and nervous, Cat jolting and gasping against me, hips pressed to mine. I'm not the one to usually do this; to take the initiative and go a step further. It's usually Cat, slow and coaxing and patient. She's almost methodical in her attentions. She pays attention to every little twitch, every sliver of breath that escapes. She touches every part of me, until I'm a stripped wire, frayed and sparking. And this – these touches – aren't enough.

I drag my hand out of her pants, pushing on her shoulder until she rolls onto her back, breathless, a question in her eyebrows. I clamber on top of her, concrete rough on my knees through the denim, hands tugging at the waistband of her jeans, dragging them down along with her underwear until I slip my hand down with ease. Until I can get the leverage I need.

It's a quick and clumsy thrust, and if I could see my hand it'd be shaking, slick with her. As it is, my ribs are rattling, knocked apart by my heart, and I can't even catch the shreds of breath that hiss out of my mouth. Cat's gasp hits me like a bucket of cold water, sending me shivering, and it's all I can do to sip a breath as her hips tremble up into my hand.

My back is to the stars, turned away from my audience, and right now I couldn't care who was watching, because all I see is her, and she's every bit as lovely as the infinite sky, her face shaded by a calm sort of darkness, that only serves to outline her features more. It's like a soft hand, carressing her cheek, smoothing everything out to something perfect and glowing, and maybe this is part of why I love the night so much. It's not just about cover of darkness, running and hiding. You don't have to see as much with your eyes; you can start to see more with other things. With your ears, with your hands, with your lips. With your heart. They turn her portrait into a sculpture, every dimension of her open to me. It makes sense to me why people fuck in the dark. It's not because they don't want to see the other person, it's not because they're ashamed. It's because it's so much more than what you can see. You can close your eyes and lose yourself, until every gasp is yours and not at the same time.

Cat moans my name, syllable tangled on her tongue, and I give her an unsteady kiss littered with my breath, and in it are little shreds of the thing I couldn't say. The thing I'm not sure of, but is getting hard to ignore. I smother it with a soft curse, wrung out of my heart. "_Fuck, Cat_-"

I wonder if it's like this for Carly. If when she fools around with her various boyfriends, she feels as scared, as excited, as nervous. Whether her chest gets squeezed so tight she can't breathe. When it feels like you're a little kid on a rollercoaster that's going up up up and it's such a long way down. If her veins pulse under her skin, and make her feel so alive, and so warm. If every second is like an hour, a snapshot in the album of her mind.

I wonder if it's like this for Cat.

She moans again, breath choked in her throat, her hands slipping up under my shirt roughly, short nails sharp on my ribs. She turns her head to the side, mouth caught open in a gasp, hips bucking, and I plant a hot kiss on her neck, the flesh that's painted by the moonlight. And I could say this is the most romantic thing ever, making love under the stars. But I'm not Carly. Or I could say this is nothing, this is just fucking on a dingy rooftop like two dogs in heat. But I'm not me right now, and I haven't been for a while. I don't want to dismiss this as just scratching an itch, satisfying an urge. The voice that tells me to shrug everything off, to stop caring about anything is silenced, replaced by the sound of my racing heart. She's worth caring for.

At what point did I decide to care for Carly? When did the voice that told me to fight her finally go away? When did I stop being scared of needing her?

I close my eyes, panting into Cat's ear, cheek flush against hers as she lets out small snippets of pleasure, washing out on every breath. Why am I so scared? Why do I have to attach so much importance to every moment with her? Is this what caring is? Worrying all the time about the other person. Worrying about yourself? Can't it just be what it is? Does everything I do with her have to mean something? But I can't help myself. I can't stop myself from thinking, because this is all new to me. How do you find a balance? I just want to be with her, but it's not that simple.

I'm sick of all this bullshit. This tug of war that's tied around my heart. This isn't me, this is Carly. Always worrying, always unsure. I just want to be what I was tonight. I like Cat. It's simple. I like spending time with her. Simple. I really like fucking her. Great. The only part I ever got about math was 1+1=2, and that's all tonight is going to be. I'm going to stop thinking, stop dissecting every flutter of my heart, and just _be with her_.

I saturate myself in the moment, in every little whimper that Cat gives, her body strumming under my hand. Her hands bruise my ribs, tightening as her hips rise, her voice bleeding into her breath as it grows short. I whisper, "_Cat._" into her burning hair as she cries out, spine tightening, muscles flexing, my own name sighed in her moan. It's a reminder. This is Cat. And I'm Sam. We're separate. I cut all the threads that I've tied around her, the questions. _Do I care? Does she care? Is she going to stay? Am I going to leave?_

We're just us, and it feels so much better when I'm not wondering about everything. Things can be simple, like the stars. They can be remote, be tiny, be so far away they can never touch us.

Cat's hand slip out from under my shirt, finding my face. She gives me a soft, broken kiss, cheeks flushed and hot. I linger afterwards, forehead pressed against hers, and it doesn't hurt to open my eyes and look at her, to run my eyes over her face. It's plain and it's simple and it's beautiful.

"Hey." My voice is soft and low, nose on the verge of touching hers as I speak. "Wanna go have some fun?"

A grin breaks out on her face, chocolate eyes glowing. "More?" She giggles, and I feel my shoulders relax, the invisible hooks that tugged them back loosening. I move to roll off her, Cat's hands tightening on shoulders. "Wait." Her hands slip down, curling around my waist to burn my lower back. "Can we just lie here for a little bit?"

Maybe it is the same for Cat. Maybe it's worse for Cat, because she's had something like this before that tore her apart. For every doubt I have, hers must be tenfold, because they all came true. She's just as scared as I am, and maybe that's why she doesn't question things, why she doesn't pressure me to stand up, to admit to what we have. To say out loud the things she deserves to hear. If she doesn't ask, she can't get an answer she doesn't want to hear. Ignorance is bliss.

She's reached the same conclusion I have. To just live in the moment, to just accept things as they are, and to enjoy our time together, however long it lasts for. I get why she doesn't want to move just yet.

Because this moment? It's perfect.

/

**A/N: I apologise to everyone out there who's been salivating over this story, desperately waiting for an update.**

**Usually, I'm awesome. In fact, I have no problem saying I'm the most awesome thing since canned bread (or those frozen cheeseburgers that you heat up in the microwave. You never quite appreciate the life you had as much as you do after taking a bite out of one of those).**

**Unfortunately, my kryptonite appears to be obsession. And more unfortunately (for Superman in this case as well), it turns out kryptonite is _everywhere_. So, while weakened and weeping over my various passions, I was lax in my work (causing my muse to starve to death from neglect, much like a tamagotchi. Except I didn't kill the muse on purpose).**

**(parentheses)!**

**Please to review, and I'll train this new muse of mine. Hopefully soon, because I can _not_ afford a new carpet and this one is barely hanging on as it is.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I lay no claim to anything Dan Schneider has done, including but not limited to that Pepsi commercial he did waaaay back.**

/

"Sam, what are we doing?"

I hold a finger to my lips, Cat squeaking and covering her mouth.

"We're looking." I answer quietly, eyes scanning the empty street.

I'm not sure where we are in the city, but it doesn't really matter. If the places I know are a heart, then all these streets are merely veins. They might writhe and twist and turn, but I always end up back where I started. I like to think I'm like one of those dogs that finds its way back home after getting lost, like you see on the news when they have nothing else to talk about. Carly likes those stories. I like the protests and riots, personally.

Cat glances around doubtfully, before taking a few jogging steps to catch up to me. "What are we looking for?" She asks in a hushed whisper, fingertips brushing my arm.

I grin, slinging an arm around her. "An opportunity, cupcake."

Our footsteps echo on the empty street, pools of sickly yellow light polkadotting the road. There's a broken streetlight somewhere behind us, humming as it struggles to fight off the darkness. There's noise everywhere; muffled behind the walls of each house, where families watch crappy television shows and have broken conversations, from cars that rumble and roar through other arteries that flow through the city. There's an occasional raucous honk of a horn, a censored swearword at another driver. Somehow all that noise forms a blanket, woven together to drape over the background, and all our sounds, our footsteps, seem louder against all those softer things.

I stop when I reach what I'm looking for, hand slipping from Cat's slight shoulders. It's a beat up old Chevy sedan, a patch of paint scraped from the door, dust thick around the wheel wells. I wander over to it, peering through the window. Good, it's not stick. I turn to Cat, jerking my thumb at the car. "What do you think?"

Cat's eyebrows flutter up her brow in confusion.

I take a few swaggering steps towards her, shrugging. "I mean, we can't fit the dog or the kids in it, but I figure we can still go for a nice drive in the country."

Cat giggles, fingers curling in front of her mouth. "It's lovely! I didn't know you had a car though! Did you forget where you parked it? My brother did that once, and it turned out he parked it on a big boat and it ended up in another country, and we would've got it back but he got banned from that country." Cat looks at me seriously for a moment. "Forever."

I stare at Cat blankly. I've heard a lot of stories about her brother at this point. He sounds like someone I'd either love, or hate intensely. I shake my head a little. "Anyway. It's not my car, Cat. At least, not yet." I kick the dusty tire, converse bouncing off the worn surface. "But with a bit of luck..."

I yank at the car handle, frowning at the resistance I meet.

Cat's eyebrows are turned up when I turn back to her. "No good?"

I shake my head. "No good."

Cat's mouth twists. "Is that a nice car?" She points further down the street, where a black Volvo gleams.

"I don't know, let's find out." I grin, holding my hand for her to grab. We jog the forty feet or so, shoes slapping the cracked pavement like gunshots. My fingers circle the cool handle, a dog yapping from somewhere on the street, voice hoarse and high. "Nope, another loser." I shrug at Cat again, smiling as she takes off towards the next car, pointing excitedly.

"_Bingo!_" Cat crows, tugging open the door of a dirty white Hyundai hatchback.

I hold my finger to my lips again, Cat ducking her head.

"I mean, bingo!" She cheers in a tiny voice, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"Good girl." My hands slide onto her waist, a quick glance around ensuring no curious resident is poking their head out where it doesn't belong. I give her a soft, quick kiss, my mind turning again to the rooftop where we lay just a short time before. If my memory is a treasure chest, then it's one of the few gold pieces in it, among all the bits of wood and scraps of cloth and useless crap that's been my life up to this point. I've replayed fragments in every footstep we took on the way here, to clot this street with our presence. I've had to keep glancing at Cat, to make sure she's even real. To make sure she's the same girl who was panting my name not even an hour ago.

Cat smiles into the kiss, giving her head a short shake after we break. "Bad girl." She corrects. "I'm bad!"

I raise an eyebrow at her, leaning against the car door casually, my hand growing dirty with dust. "Not yet you're not." I run a fingertip over Cat's cheek, tracing her cheekbone. "Get you a few prison tatts, maybe some leather... _then _you'll be bad."

I slide into the driver's seat, Cat running around to the passenger side. I check the usual places for the keys. It's a longshot, but you'd be surprised at how stupid some people can be. There really aren't that many places to hide things in a car. The person who owns this car, while dumb enough to leave it unlocked, wasn't completely braindead. No keys. I shift in the scratchy seat, hand sliding under the steering column, searching for the distinctive bunch of wires.

It takes some swearing, and some strained fingers, but with a spark and a sputtering rumble, the car comes to life. The radio mutters softly on some talk station, voices dry and dull, melting into the sound of the engine. Cat toys with the controls, changing the station to one with a cheery pop song playing, where half the words are 'baby'. I pull out onto the street, car whining slightly. I'm half-expecting someone to run outside, fist shaking at us. It wouldn't be the first time it's happened. But I'm lucky this time. The only thing that chases us is a battered sheet of newspaper, swept up by the wind.

I flatten the accelerator, foot to the floor, the engine roaring in response. Laughter bites the back of my throat, buzzing. I glance over at Cat, and she's giving the same smile. One so wide it almost splits your face, where your heart beats so loud and fast you have to open your mouth just to let the sound of it out. And there it is, that thrill again. That feeling of pure freedom. As much as getting cuffed sucks, as much as it hurts to see your friend's hearts break with disappointment, it's worth it. It's worth every con for this pro. We're teenagers. We're kings and queens of our domain. We think we're better than everyone, stronger, faster, smarter. We're gods incarnate, for those few years before we have to start taking responsibility for our actions, before the yoke of expectancy settles on our shoulders. It's a license to be stupid, and it's hard to revoke. We're invincible, until we're forced to learn we're not.

I'm not stupid. This won't last forever. It's almost at its end now, what with Ruben and everything. I've played my game, and it's been _Risk_. I've won more times than I've lost, but the losses... they add up. Worrying isn't in my makeup. I can't look at a thing, and highlight all the parts that could fail, but that's all I've been doing lately. Too scared to even put a foot down, in case of the footprint I might leave. Maybe Carly doesn't think I'm taking this thing seriously, maybe she thinks I don't care, but the truth is... I do. I worry now, about every little thing. When I get up in the morning, I wonder about all the mistakes I'm going to make today, because no matter what I do, mistakes are what I make. I just never cared about them before. The time I spend with Cat is just about the only time I'm free from that hesitance, that incessant nagging on consequences that's always in my head these days. She looks at me like I'm the person I used to be, the person who leapt into any situation head first, regardless of the dangers there might be. She stops me from thinking, and that's the only time I can be happy. When thoughts of how I'm going to fuck up today aren't running through my head, pounding in my temples.

I wind down the window, wind whipping my hair, twirling and coiling it around my ears. Cat copies my motion, her own ruby hair dancing in the breeze created by our motion. My hand beats a tattoo on the steering wheel, worn leather smooth under my fingers. The streets wind and curve, and I follow them with a heavy foot and a spun wheel, playing them like some raucous melody. I don't know where we're going. Maybe we're not going anywhere. Maybe there doesn't need to be a destination. We did this thing in English once, where Briggs talked about journeys and stuff. I was kind of fixated on carving swear words into the desk, but I picked something up about how the destination doesn't matter, it's the journey that really changes you. It made sense, you know. People talk about all these great road trips they have, they write books about travelling all over the world. They don't talk about how they sat in a motel bar for a week once they got there.

I don't want to go anywhere. I'm not running away from anything, I'm not running toward anything. I'm just running, I'm just trying to tire myself out enough so that I can go back, so that I don't feel like I'm pinned in place, unable to move. Maybe Cat's here with me for the same reason. She's trying to forget. She's trying to go back to the person she was before everything blew up in her face, and maybe we're both stuck chasing something that can't be caught. Maybe we're just stupid kids who cling to each other because there's nothing else, but is that so wrong? To have someone who doesn't talk about the real world, about consequences and actions and responsibility. Is it so bad to have someone who can take me away from that, who points to clouds and paints a picture with them, who chases after pigeons and skips whenever she feels like it? If two broken people can cover their cracks, at least for a little while, then shouldn't that be okay?

It should be. I should be okay with it. I can fight and rage in my mind, and knock down every thought that tells me to be ashamed. But when I'm in school, when I'm around Carly, it's her voice I have to listen to. Calling me a freak, a fuck up, a dyke. It's my mother's voice, slurring at me, her bony fingers in my ribs. Maybe Carly wouldn't do that, but what if she did? What if she looked at me the same way my mother did, with that mixture of disgust and loathing?

I pull over, cruising into park, trees shading the road, like heavy fingers, through which the streetlights can barely peek. My hands are tight on the wheel, teeth squeezed against each other. Why does feeling good with Cat make me feel so bad? Why does it feel like the only good thing I've ever done, and the worst crime at the same time?

I yank off my seatbelt, strap clicking as it retracts. And then it's my hand on Cat's cheek, turning her face towards me, and my lips clashing with hers, body angled over the center console, left hand planted on the edge of her seat. Cat squeaks, a sharp breath exhaled through her nose, and I break away for a moment to run my tongue over my lips, the taste of her lipgloss faint, just a shadow. She twists in her seat when I kiss her again, constrained by her seatbelt, a hand managing to find it's way to my ribs, wrinkling my t-shirt up, so that her palm just grazes my waist, burning.

Cat's breath is liquid as she gasps a breath, lips hot against me, forehead pressed to mine. I drown myself in her, in her lips, in her skin, in her breath with every ragged exhale. I submerge myself until those ugly voices are muffled, and all there is is her. Simple, and easy. Pure.

My lips are tracing Cat's pulse when my phone rings, the beats of a hip hop song I loved a few months ago and never got around to changing breaking through our quiet breaths.

My back thuds into my seat, hand scrabbling in my pocket, the screen bright as I hold it up. "Carly." I pant to Cat, holding a finger to my swollen lips. She giggles, mimicking the motion. "Hey Carls."

"Hi Sam. Um... where are you?"

I blink, eyebrows dragging down. "Uh..." I peer out into the darkened street. "I don't know. Why?"

"Seriously?" Carly's voice is exasperated, and I hear Freddie in the background, voice muffled.

"_I told you she'd forget_."

"Carly, tell Fredbag to shut it, will you?"

"Sam, how could you forget about the history test we have _tomorrow_? I've sent you like a dozen texts, _and _talked to you, _and _had you sign a written contract that you'd be here to cram tonight."

I lick my lips, vanilla on my tongue. "That was tonight?"

There's silence on the other end of the line.

"Carly? I... I'm on my way now. I was just... you know, kidding. I was picking up snacks. Some ham, some cheese. You know, brain food."

"Just get here soon. We've got to work on a new script for iCarly too. And you have to actually help this time instead of just shooting spitballs at Freddie."

"No problemo." I nod emphatically, sliding down in the musty seat. My shoulders tighten as I hear a small sneeze beside me. "Oh, one problemo, actually. Can Cat come too?"

"...Just get here soon."

/

**A/N: Ooooo what's gonna happen?**

**Is it scary when the author asks that? I mean, if the author doesn't know, then… who does?**

**If you think it's you, then I'll probably just call you impudent and HOW DARE YOU PRESUME TO TELL MY STORY FOR ME GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE AND INTO MY CAR.**

**But no, rest assured, I have some vague idea of what's going to happen. I'll be making history, alright. There'll be some 'cramming'.**

**Spit… balls?**

**No, that one doesn't work.**

**Review?**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I do not own Victorious. I do own iCarly though.**

/

Carly's practically spewing flames when she opens the door. I don't usually knock, but I figured now might be the time to start. I ditched the car a few blocks away, and Cat's skipping, while fun to watch, isn't the fastest method of foot travel. Carly doesn't even comment on me knocking, despite the fact I've only knocked on her door about five times in the past six years, and two of those times have been in the last fortnight.

Carly being angry with me isn't anything new, but the daggers she's shooting at me with her eyes are. Carly's anger usually takes the form of exasperation; lots of sighs and crossed arms. More disappointment and frustration than what I'd class as anger, really. Then again, my definition of anger seems to be synonymous with the word 'felony'.

"Where have you been?" Carly spits, throwing her hand out at me like she's wishing there was a shuriken in it. Freddie shifts uncomfortably on the couch, wiping his palms on his jeans. He's never liked us fighting, preferring to just sit in the middle with the occasional attempt at soothing us, a quiver in his brow like he's scared his parents are divorcing all over again.

"I was… showing Cat the sights." I rub the back of my neck, flicking a glance to Cat, whose gaze is focussed on her shoes, hands linked behind her back. "Look, Carls, I just forgot about tonight. I didn't mean to-"

"Whatever." Carly turns away, putting a hand to her head and taking a few deep breaths. When she speaks again her voice is calmer. "We were just about to take a break anyway."

Freddie's eyebrows jump up. I'm guessing that 'we' didn't include him.

"Cat, did you want anything?" Carly's voice is sweet towards her, Cat giving her head a little shake, a half-step behind me, like I'm some kind of shield for her, and maybe I am. I've always felt like more a weapon than a wall.

"I want something…" I say sullenly. Carly has this passive-aggressiveness that drives me crazy. She never just out and tells you what's wrong, you have to sidestep your way around until you trip over the damn problem. I know she's pissed at me about forgetting the whole study night, but it's hardly the first time I've done something like this. This isn't about me being late, it's about something bigger, something I'm going to have to extract from her like a rotten tooth, and it's not going to be pleasant for either of us. At least Cat's here, and she still likes me.

"You know where the fridge is." Carly states blankly, gesturing to the kitchen.

I push a sigh down my throat, stopping it from spilling out. Study nights suck at the best of times. This is just going to be torture. Plus we're supposed to do something for iCarly tonight, and nobody seems like they're in a jovial mood.

I stalk over to the kitchen, Cat tagging along like she's my shadow, Carly's eyes following us before she turns to Freddie, saying a few quiet words.

I grab a rootbeer out of the fridge, slamming the top off on the bench. The taste reminds me of Cat, of the first time she kissed me. It makes my stomach swirl and twist the way it did that night, tying itself into knots. I'm still scared of what that kiss started, of what it sparked in me, but Cat's brought me more happiness than I've had in a long time. She's filled that void Carly left when she started drifting away from me, and the way she's acting tonight? Well, it feels like she's almost gone.

"So what are we starting with?" I say with as much of my usual bravado as I can muster, throwing myself on the couch. Freddie's waiting for Carly to tell me, but she's busy picking some imaginary lint off her shirt. He jumps in with an awkward answer, and we get started.

Somehow, I think Cat does even less studying than I do, flicking through the textbooks and stopping at every picture, ___oohing_at some and wincing at the violent ones. Most of the pictures are violent ones. I read the same sentence about twenty times before it finally sinks in, until I realise I'm just reading the title of the essay. Carly's shoulders relax as the minutes pass, as she loses herself in the records of battles past. I don't know how she puts herself into that state, into the place where all these dry words mean something, where they paint a picture and bring something to life. The only thing I can see when I look at them is a trail of jumbled ants, pressed against the page, marching towards some conclusion I can't see. Carly's pen starts to tap against her lips, she asks me to pass her something, tone absentminded. She's lost the anger she must've worked so hard to get.

Cat tugs at my arm after a while, whispering that she needs to go to the bathroom, eyes desperate. There's still so many things I don't get about her. A normal person just asks where the bathroom is; Cat's waited until she's just about to burst, like she hoped it would just go away, and she wouldn't have to bother anyone. It makes me wonder why she's so scared to impose on anyone at times, and so eager to at others. I've cast more than a handful of stones into her, to test her waters, but I've yet to see where any of them have sunk to. She's a mystery that becomes more tragic the longer I know her, and maybe that's part of why I'm not trying too hard to unravel it. I know there's not a happy ending in her, and I'm not the kind of person who can make one for her. I'm the wolf in ___Little Red Riding Hood_, not the woodcutter.

I announce to Carly that I'm showing Cat the bathroom, which she meets with a nod, hand turning yet another page in her textbook, pen jotting a note down. Freddie actually looks up, probably hopeful to see Cat go, so he can check her out. Cat takes my hand, fingers entwined in mine, and if it wasn't for the fact that Carly and Freddie's attention is focussed on schoolwork, I'd be shaking her free from me. I almost do it anyway, just from the way it makes my heart jump in my chest, the way it makes it just a little harder for me to breathe. She hurts me from the inside, but it's the kind of pain that's all in your head, the kind that's addictive, like doing a final pushup when your muscles are already screaming at you, trembling and shaking. She's a sense of accomplishment, and she's just about peeing herself.

Cat scampers into the bathroom when she reaches it, hand slipping from mine, a stream of ___thank yous_issuing from her mouth as the door slams shut. I lean against the wall, arms crossed. Tonight's been a mixed bag. That thing with Carly is bugging me, but it's tempered by the time I spent with Cat beforehand. Lying on the rooftop with her, her body warm against mine, lips soft and yielding, parting to pant my name. Her hips, bucking up against me, stomach shivering against my wrist, my fingers twisting inside her. I'm lost in thoughts of her, jumping as the door opens. It's not even a thought to push it back, Cat shuffling away in surprise as I close it behind me. She doesn't resist as my hand strokes her cheek, my lips following, soft against hers. She responds with all the enthusiasm she can muster, as if we'd planned this all along, to sneak off and make out in the bathroom. I can feel her smiling against my lips, and I wonder if she thinks this is some sweet gesture, some romantic sign or something, like I can't keep my hands off her. If that's what she's thinking, maybe she's right. I can't help but want to touch her, and what I want, I usually try to get as fast as possible.

I break away, trying not to gasp in the breath I'd forgotten to take, and try to avoid looking at Cat. Looking at her will only make me want to kiss her again, and as much as I'd prefer that to studying, now isn't the time or place. I already lack enough self-control, I might as well make an attempt to prove I have some. "We better get back."

Cat nods. "'Kay 'kay."

Carly and Freddie don't even look up when we get back, still absorbed in their history books. I'm pretty sure studying's only beneficial to them. It's never helped me get a better grade. Sometimes I do even worse than usual, out of spite. I always feel out of place during these study nights. Carly and Fredbag are smart, they suck down facts like they're food, but my knowledge never seems to stay down. It comes right back up as soon as I go to sleep, and it's like I've never even studied. At least with Cat here, I'm not outnumbered by geniuses. Well, a genius and Freddie. She's taking about as much interest in taking down notes as I am, her hand carefully drawing an elephant holding a balloon. I'm tempted to scold her, not from some sense of responsibility, but because her elephant looks better than the robot I've drawn.

The next thing I remember is waking up on the sofa, Carly's voice calling my name exasperatedly. My feet are propped up on the table, Cat's head nestled in my lap. I pull my fingers from where they're entwined in her hair, swiping a trail of drool from my mouth. "What's- what?" I blink, eyes adjusting to the light. "What's goin' on, Carls?"

"You fell asleep." Carly states. Her voice isn't angry, or even annoyed, but it's got this funny sort of quaver in it that I can't quite decipher. Or maybe my brain's still addled from my impromptu nap. "So did she." Carly gestures to my lap, Cat's eyebrows furrowing as she slowly wakes up. "I think we're done for the night. We'll leave the iCarly stuff until tomorrow night, okay?"

"O… kay." Carly's mood has been swinging as wildly as Fredbag in a batting cage tonight. "Where's Spence?" I stretch my arms out as Cat sits up, her hand planted on my thigh as she lifts herself, other hand rubbing her eyes.

"He's out 'hunting'." Carly frowns. "Whatever that means. He said he'd be back in a few hours, if the police didn't call." She studies us for a moment, as if she's deciding something. Or maybe she's trying to figure something out. Cat's eyes are like hers only in colour and kindness. They've got nothing on complexity. "You two can crash here if you want. Take Spencer's bed if you want. He can crawl in with me when he gets back." Carly's lips purse. "___If_he gets back."

Cat's eyes snap awake suddenly, her frame stiffening. "Bathroom." She announces, voice desperate. She repeats the word like a mantra as she leaps off the couch, almost tripping up the stairs.

"Carly, what's going on?"

"What do you mean?" Carly plants a look of surprise on her face, but she's never been a good liar.

"I mean why are you giving Cat and me Spencer's bed? You know she can sleep with you and I'll take the couch in your room. Actually, we could probably all fit in your bed. That thing's huge. And soft." I let out a sigh. "___So_soft."

Carly shrugs. "The two of you looked pretty cosy there, I thought you'd want to have your own room."

My heart starts doing a drunken samba in my chest. "What's that supposed to mean?" Does she know? How- How could she? Cat and I haven't- I mean, we've been touchy-feely, but no more so than I am with Carly. Did Cat tell her? Did someone ___else _tell her? Do people know?

I fight to keep my breath steady, to keep a look of relative boredom on my face instead of the terror that's racing through my veins.

"I don't mean anything. Look, you don't have to sleep in Spencer's room. I just thought you'd be more comfortable there. You're always with Cat these days, anyway." Carly says the last part dismissively, turning her face away. The vice grip on my lungs loosens a little, letting me take a deep breath. She doesn't know, or if she does, she's playing it so cool it's frozen. She could just be too disgusted to even say it out loud, to confront me with it. That's an option I try to keep out of my head. "Look, take Spencer's room if you want, or don't. It doesn't bother me either way."

But it does. It does bother her. She's jealous. Or at least I think she is. She might be a terrible liar, but she still never shows you her cards, and I'm not sure enough of her bluff to call it. "Okay. Cat and I will take Spencer's room." I say carefully.

Carly's nose wrinkles almost imperceptibly as she turns away. It's what she wants but it's not what she wanted to hear. "I'll see you guys in the morning." She passes Cat on the stairs, saying a soft goodnight, with Cat giving a more enthusiastic one.

Cat's smile fades as she spots me, trailing after me as I storm into Spencer's room. It smells surprisingly similar to my room. My room smells like dirty socks. "What's wrong?" She says softly, hands knitted together in front of her.

"Nothing. We're sleeping in here tonight." My voice comes out rough as I tug my shoes off, perched on the edge of Spencer's messy bed.

"Did you and Carly fight?" Cat sits down next to me, a hand resting on my shoulder.

"No. Maybe." I sigh, shoulders slumping. "I don't even know." My fingers snake into my hair, gripping the blonde locks. I tighten my grip until my scalp hurts, taking a deep breath. It clears my head a little, that pang of pain. I let my hands slip away on the exhale, straightening again. "Are you okay?"

It seems like whenever one of us is happy, the other can't be. Or maybe it's just us, and we were never meant to be happy people. Maybe it upsets the balance of nature or some shit.

Cat gives a little nod. "I'm okay." She nods as if to add emphasis, smiling at me, and I'm overcome with the urge to kiss her. For being her. For smiling at me. For a whole list of little things that are too numerous to name. So I do.

She grins into the kiss, squeaking, and I can't help but smile back, pulling away. "Let's get some sleep. We've got a test to fail tomorrow."

Cat cheers, jumping to her feet, and within an instant, she's shimmied out of her shorts, denim pooling on the ground. I undo my own jeans, standing and sliding them down, a cool breeze instantly shooting up the legs of my boxers. I slip under the covers of Spencer's bed, hoping not to find something from one of his art projects wedged in the sheets. He's been working with food a lot lately.

Cat crawls in with me, chest warm against my back, her knees hitting my thighs. Her hand hovers over the dip in my waist, voice whispering. "Is it okay to touch you here?"

She means here, in Carly's apartment, but the fact that she's asking if she can touch me at all twists my heart up. A moment ago, she smiled at me and said she was okay, but how can she be okay with this? With having to ask permission if she can touch me? She's never pulled away from me when I leant in, never dropped my hand and said ___not here, not now__._

"_You can touch me anywhere._" The words slip out, almost silent, and they're a release, a reprieve from the anxiety, from the ache I feel everytime I think Cat's just a little too close, or I think someone's looking at us too long, or I just feel sick with the sense that people know, somehow.

Cat's lips brush my shoulder, her hand sliding to rest on my stomach. "Is that okay?"

I let out a soft sound of assent, Cat's fingers creeping lower.

"Still okay?"

I cover her hand with my own in response, drawing it down further. I take a deep breath as Cat's fingertips slip under the waistband of my boxers, her lips soft and warm on the back of my neck. Every fibre of me is screaming to push her away, that it's too dangerous to do this here, and if it was anyone else but Carly who'd catch us, I'd be shuffling away from Cat, and probably even sleeping on the floor. Carly. With her passive-aggressiveness. Carly, with her mood swings, with her half-said words and snide tone. Carly, who's always angry at me for something these days, who's always looking at me with disappointment, because I'm not what she wants. Carly, who might know about me and Cat, or might not, but either way she'd never tell me. Carly, who makes me feel like I'm something that's crawled out from under a rock. I'm doing this to spite her, to prove that even if she can't love me the way I am, there's someone who can. I'm doing this to prove that to myself. I'm doing this because I'm sick of trying not to.

Cat's fingers rub over me, her hips pressing into me from behind. I can't help but jerk back into her as she finds my clit, teeth sinking into my bottom lip. How can something that feels so good make me feel so bad later? So guilty, so wrong. So scared. She drops another kiss onto me, leaving her lips pressed against my shoulder as her fingers work. My hips are shivering, trying to stop from jerking and bucking, held in place by her busy hand and her hips. Breath is gushing from my mouth, dripping from my lips in tiny bursts as that warmth builds inside me, as it coils near my spine and starts sharpening its claws. It's a struggle not to moan, to keep myself quiet and still, but at least it takes my mind away from Carly. And maybe that's why Carly's pissed, because she's not on my mind anymore. Cat is. Maybe it's not Carly forgetting me, it's me forgetting her. Dropping her for my new toy, that I can't even share with the world because of my fear that they'll tear us both apart.

Cat's name slips from my tongue, a soft, quiet sound like a cough, something vulnerable and raw that I just couldn't keep trapped in my throat any longer. A moment of weakness that I don't mind. She responds with a hot breath, exhaled against my shoulder, and I feel her stomach shiver against my spine, her fingers pushing me towards the edge, until finally I topple over, my teeth sinking so hard into my lower lip that I'm scared I'll sever it right off. I can't muffle my moan entirely, fragments of sound bleeding through. Cat moves with my hips as they twitch with the aftershocks, her fingers still gently rubbing until my body relaxes, my lower lip throbbing as I release it to gasp in a breath.

I grab hold of Cat's hand as it steals away, bringing it to my mouth. The scent of me is there, faint on her fingertips, but it's her palm I patter with kisses, her wrist I kiss last before letting her go. She snuggles up to me, arm draped over my waist, a soft sigh escaping her. "'Night Sammy."

I let out a long breath, the throbbing between my legs starting to abate. "'Night Red."

/

**A/N: I'm gonna admit something to you guys.**

**Not every little part of this fic is planned out.**

**Why? Because I find that everyone seems to interpret things that happen in it differently. So you know what? I'm gonna be lazy. I'm gonna let you guys tell me what to do, and whoever's loudest and most strident, will win. What do you guys want to see happen? What do you _think_ will happen? Does Carly secretly love Sam, or is she just pissed about being forgotten (both answers are right, just to be aggravating)?**

**So when you review (because of course you're going to, why wouldn't you? You're not a monster, are you?), tell me what you – personally – want. Tell me what your interpretation of all this is. Open my eyes. _You can show me the world_.**

**A/N to the A/N: The author reserves all right to completely change her mind about what's happening based on a drunken whim or a nonsensical dream.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I own Dan Schneider, after purchasing a can of pepsi during the 1980's and winning him as an instant prize. Therefore, I also own all of his works, despite what his lawyer says.**

**/**

When I wake up, Cat's arms are still around me, warm and tight. She's slipped down a little in the night, or maybe I crawled up, but either way, her fingertips twitch just over the waistband of my boxers. It's a reminder of last night. Of hot breath on my shoulder, teeth sunk into my lip, sounds stifled and muscles trembling, and it snaps me awake because it's not just my brain that remembers, it's my body too. It remembers what it felt like, hearing her whisper my name as her fingers worked.

"_Sam!_"

I jerk forward, Cat's arms slipping away. The floor crunches when I hit it, which is worrying because it's carpet, but my heart is pounding too hard to wonder what exactly is crackling in Spencer's floor. Cat makes a soft noise of protest, pulling her arms back to herself, brow furrowing. I scramble onto my feet, almost tripping over the tangled blanket I've ripped off the bed. "Uh, Carls, hi." I try to breathe around my thundering heart, but it's kicking my lungs with every beat. "What's uh... what's up? What's happ- is that bacon?" I sniff the air, stomach rumbling in response.

Carly's arms are crossed, her face blank but for a raised eyebrow, purple penny tee rumpled. "You're gonna be late for school."

Cat's turns onto her back, legs kicking out childishly. The hem of her top rides up, revealing the tanned skin of her stomach, the curve of her waist, the outline of her hipbones underneath her pink, pink underwear-

"And so is she."

I tear my eyes away from her. Not now. There's already a war going on between my head and my stomach. I don't need my heart and my libido jumping into the fray. I don't need Carly knowing what she already might know. I'd ask her if she did, but that only works if she already does know. If she doesn't... well, I'll have told her, and that's something I'm not ready to do. I'm not ready to have anyone know. "She's a pretty heavy sleeper, huh?"

Carly's arms uncross, dropping to her sides. "I wouldn't know." I think she's angry again. She's using that cold voice, and her shoulders are pulled back too far, like she's not sure how to hold herself. It's too early for me to function, to dig into that morass of emotions Carly is. She twists and turns and switchbacks and dead ends. She's a maze I always get lost in. I've never once found her centre. She calls me out for lying all the time, but she lies too. She just doesn't do it in words. She does it in feelings, in all the things she doesn't say that I _know_ she means to.

"Carls, look, I don't know what's going on, okay, but you're mad at me or something and like usual, I don't know why." Carly stays silent, gaze lowered. "And I'm guessing you're not about to tell me, huh? I'm supposed to figure it out or I won't learn anything or some shit like that, right?"

"You're gonna be late." She turns, footsteps crinkling over the questionable carpet, eyes skimming over Cat, like she's looking for something she just can't see. Carly pauses in the doorway, a hand poised on the wooden frame. "I left some breakfast on the counter. Lock the door after you leave, okay?"

"But Carls..." She shuts the door behind her, and I'm left wondering what the fuck I did this time. "...You never lock the door." I finish quietly, lowering myself to the bed. Whatever I worked out last night, whatever theories I had are probably all bullshit. Every time I try to guess what her problem is, it's the opposite. Even when I guess the opposite, I'm still wrong. I'm supposed to be her best friend, but I barely even know her anymore. She's not the girl who'd stay up and watch Girly Cow marathons with. The girl who laughed whenever I pantsed Gibby. The girl who starred in iCarly with me every week. It looks like her, but it doesn't even sound like her. There's no warmth in her voice anymore, no patience. We're not kids anymore. I realised that around the time Carly had her first kiss. I just didn't think it meant anything. She's been waiting for me to grow up too, to mature like she has, and maybe she's mad that I haven't. That I'm still the same Sam I was when we first met. Or maybe I haven't changed the way she wanted me to. I haven't changed the way anyone wanted me to. I just keep fucking up, the same way I did when I was a kid. Except nobody smiles at my mistakes anymore.

I shift on the bed, facing Cat. "Hey, wake up." I jostle her leg with a hand, Cat frowning and twisting. "Hey, we've got school, come on!" I feel a pang of frustration, shaking harder, Cat's leg tugging out of my grasp. "Get the fuck up!" It's a sharp sound, my hand hitting her leg. It stings my fingers, and I pull them back, curling them up into a fist. It's the first time they've felt safer that way. Cat gasps, jerking up, a look of confusion on her face.

"Owwie." She says softly, drawing her leg up to her. A bright red mark is starting to appear on the smooth, tan skin, striping her calf angrily. She frowns, smoothing her fingers over the mark. "What happened?" She looks up at me, perplexed. "Was there a bug?" Her look turns to fear. "Was it a spider?"

I pull myself off the bed, turning away to grab the puddle of denim on the floor that's my jeans. "We're gonna be late for school." I tug them on, shoving my feet into my sneakers. The smell of the bacon is making me sick now, churning my empty stomach. Cat's clambering off the bed behind me, picking up her shorts daintily, and she doesn't even care.

I hit her. And as much as I dreamt of doing that when I first met her, I never did. I had more control then than I do now. How could- How could I?

I clench the offending appendage until my knuckles turn white, walking out of Spencer's room to where our books are still scattered on the coffee table. I should be back in that room, begging her to forgive me. I should be spilling my guts out in apology. She's the one person who still looks at me like I'm worth something. She's the one person who looks at me like she thinks I wouldn't do something like that. Fuck, I slap her and she thinks it's to get a bug off? The thought didn't even cross her mind that I might've done it on purpose. That it might've been to hurt her. She was the one person I hadn't let down.

What scares me even more is that if I told her, that if I said I'd done it just to hurt her, she'd probably smile and say it was okay. She'd forgive me in a single breath, and it's not fucking right.

I sling my backpack on my shoulder, ignoring the breakfast-laden plates in the kitchen. I'm not hungry anymore. Cat ambles out behind me, stretching languorously, squealing when she sees the plates laid out for us. She doesn't even know what just happened, or maybe she does, and she just doesn't care. Maybe she's used to it. But that's even worse. I don't want this to be something I can get away with. I don't want her to take it lying down. I want her to get mad, to see what I really am. To look at me the way Carly does, because Carly's finally realised the truth. That I've changed alright. I've changed into a monster.

"Are you having breakfast?" Cat pushes the other plate forward, a piece of half-eaten bacon in her hand.

"No. I... I'll meet you downstairs, okay? We'll walk to school together." I cross to the door, hand twisting on the knob. "Oh, don't forget to lock it on your way out."

"'Kay 'kay!"

I take the stairs. Carly lives pretty high up, but it gives me time to clear my head. It's a tiny thing. Slapping her leg. It wasn't particularly hard. It wasn't because I was mad at her. Violence is something that's natural to me. It's usually my first response. I grew up with it, and it's something that I'm good at. I hurt people all the time. For fun, mostly. I live and breathe violence. This is the first time I've ever felt like holding my breath. Like maybe breathing isn't worth it if this is what it does.

It's a tiny thing. A tiny, tiny thing. It's not a big deal, really. But it is. Because of who Cat is, because of who I am. She wasn't even upset. Even if she knew, she'd take it with a soft smile and an apology, and it makes me sick. It makes me sick because part of me... part of me could do that. Could hurt her. Hurt her worse. It's a tiny thing, but so was my first crime. A pocketed candy bar. And when I didn't get caught, I moved onto bigger stuff. I don't want this to get any bigger. I don't want to be my mom's boyfriends. I don't want to hit Cat and trick her into thinking it's her fault. That she deserved it. I want her to be the Cat that thinks I couldn't possibly do such a thing, that it must've been for a reason, a good reason. I want her to keep looking at me like she does, because she makes me want to be that person. That great, fantastic person she thinks I am. I'm sick of being exactly what Carly thinks I am. A waste of space. A mistake she made when she was just a kid. I've changed into a monster, and Cat made me forget all about it. She made me feel like the kid I was. The stupid, happy kid. The kid that Carly loved.

I drag my feet through the lobby, warm air hitting my face as I go outside. It's hot, the sun shining down brightly, and it feels wrong. This is Seattle. The sun doesn't belong here. I'm pretty sure I look like a mess, but it's the least of my worries. I have to fix this thing with Carly. I have to fix this thing with Cat. No. I have to fix this thing with me. This thing that made me do that. This thing that makes me do stupid stuff, that always gets me into trouble. This thing Ruben's been ineffectually trying to find. If I can find it, if I can dig it out, tear out its roots and rip it free, maybe I can be that person Cat sees. Maybe I can be the girl that Carly loved, that she stuck up for, even though I really didn't need her to.

Cat's smiling when she comes outside. I'm sure she hasn't done her makeup, or brushed her teeth, or done her hair any more than a quick comb, but she still looks stunning. I can see why they wanted her at that school. Until Jade broke her in two and sent her here to hide. I'm not about to break her, to ruin another place, another memory for her. I actually care about her. She might be my secret, but it's only to keep her safe. It's only to make sure no one hurts her. Right?

It's only to stop more people looking at me like I'm a monster.

We're walking side by side, Cat chattering away as she usually does, a smile on her face, and even if the sun wasn't shining, it'd still feel bright. I still don't listen to everything she says, but the constant noise doesn't bug me like it did before. It comforts me, because whatever I'm feeling, Cat's still happy. Or at least she acts like it. I'm trying not to squint, cement lit white by the sunlight, when Cat's hand slips into mine, her fingers entwining.

She grins brightly at me when I look over at her. "Is it okay?"

She's holding the hand that hit her.

I nod, and Cat resumes her blather about watermelons, and I don't even mind when our hands start to get sweaty. She keeps my hand from doing anything else stupid.

I let her go when we reach the school. She doesn't ask why. It's a trick she already knows; to not ask questions about why she's being hidden. Her previous owner taught her that, and Cat performs it perfectly. She never slips up, not even with a frown.

We're late. Of course we're late, but about the only people who care about that are the teachers, and by now, they're just happy if I show up. Well... not happy, but satisfied. I guess it saves them some paperwork or something. I leave Cat at her locker. We have different classes, and as much as I wish I could kiss her, just once on the cheek or something, I stop myself. And I guess that means she's not worth it, that other people are more important than her. That's not it at all, but that's what it feels like. Like if she really mattered to me I'd kiss her everywhere. But she already matters more than anyone else. She already matters more than all those fucking kids who gawk at me. All they expect is violence, and that's all I give to them. I don't like letting people down, after all.

For most people, their day is better when I'm not in it. Cat's not one of those people.

Not yet.

/

**A/N: Writing is a funny thing. And I don't just mean when you change the words into wingdings after a few drinks and try to read it aloud.**

**I mean more in the 'oh isn't it strange' sort of funny. Because as much as I wish I could keep Sam on the path I have laid out, she insists on going off and doing her own thing. Which I think means I'm either a good writer, or a really bad one who can't control her characters or keep them consistent. Or maybe it means I'm an alcoholic, and I can't remember what I've written until it's been published for a month.**

**Regardless of what I am, reviews are always appreciated, especially when left in wingdings.**

**Arrow, arrow, cube, gemini sign, ampersand.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: Nothing Dan Schneider owns is mine. I don't even think we use the same brand of floss.**

**/**

I sigh, exasperated. I scribble out another answer, destroying the words with thick black lines, pen almost tearing through the page. I hate tests. I swear the damn teacher never even mentioned half the stuff that's on here. Although even if she had I still wouldn't have listened. Carly's scratching away in front of me, shoulders hunched forward. She chews on the tip of her pen from time to time. It's not even easy for her. That usually means it's going to be double bad for me once we get the results back. But the test is the least of my problems at the moment. I'm not sure which is the most, but there's a lot to choose from. Ruben. Cat. Carly. Me. They're all things I have to solve, and I don't know the answer to them any more than I know the answers to the questions on the sheet in front of me.

I glance to my right. Cat's playing with a pink eraser. She's stuck a little spring in it, along with some pushpins. I'm guessing it's a pig, from the way she's oinking almost silently. She's made a little fence for it from her pens and pencils, and I get the feeling that even I might get a better mark than her. She must feel my eyes on her, because she looks over with a grin, eyes bright and cheery. She's so relentlessly happy. She's like a kid's show on a channel where everything else is drama. I know she's not happy, not all the time, but she pretends so well I don't know whether it's minutes or months that she's sad for. Ruben might be the only one who really does know. I wonder what goes on in their sessions. If Cat talks about Jade. If she talks about me. She's gone through so many therapists, and I still can't see how. She's hurt, yeah, but she's not unfixable. Even if she's shattered, you can still glue the pieces back together. So why do they keep giving up?

I turn back to the test. That's another problem I can't solve. The biggest one is right in front of me. Carly. She's practically an essay, and one I don't know how to make a start on. My stomach rumbles, audible in the near silent classroom. Maybe I can make a start after lunch. I did skip breakfast, after all. I don't think I've done that since I realised mornings existed.

When the bell rings for lunch, half of my test is still blank. I catch a glimpse of Cat's on the way out. It's full, but not of words. She's got drawings of cake and candy and dolphins, and somehow I don't think they have much to do with history. It does tell me she's looking forward to lunch as much as I am, though.

I load up my tray in the cafeteria with tater tots and some sweaty-looking lasagna, Cat's tray clinking against mine as she jostles in beside me. "How'd you do?" She asks, a pert smile on her face.

I grab a frosting-coated cupcake and toss it onto my tray. If there's one thing I like about this school, it's the cafeteria. That and the bathroom. I've found some weird stuff in there. "Crap. You?"

"I made a piggy." Cat adds a sugary cupcake to her tray as well, looking pleased. I don't think she's going to be surprised when she gets a bad mark.

"Is your..." I run the tip of my tongue over my lips, squeezing the carton of milk I've grabbed slightly, condensation cool on my palm. "Is your leg okay?"

Cat's brow furrows in confusion for a second before she remembers. "Oh! It's fine. You got that spider good!" She giggles, grabbing a bottle of juice, hip bumping mine as we shuffle along the line. I hand my money over to the sneering lunch lady, receiving a handful of sticky change back. Hairnets are never a good look on anybody, but for some reason they hold it against you when you tell them.

Maybe that little thing, that little slap wouldn't mean so much if it'd happened at any other time. A week ago, a month ago. If it hadn't happened in Spencer's bed, with Carly's perfume still swirling in the room. I'm spending so much time controlling myself, and I'm starting to realise that I can't. That I never could. I can't change who I am, even when I want to. Even when I need to. But Cat's learned how to. She's learned how to seal up her insides, and make every word perfect. If she hadn't kissed me, I'd still probably think she was dumb as a brick, and only good for hurling. Some part of me wishes I did still think that. It'd be simpler. Maybe I wouldn't have as many problems. Or maybe I just wouldn't be able to deal with them without her.

I sit down next to Carly, Cat squeezing in beside me, thigh flush with mine under the table. It's Carly who shuffles over, like I'm too close to her. We've shared the same air more than a few times, and now a couple of inches is too crowding. I wolf my lunch down, but it's without any real enthusiasm. That tiny part of me that always says _no_, _stop_ is telling me to shift away from Cat, that she's too close. That people can see, that people will notice. It's the same little part that keeps me from holding her hand, from slinging an arm around her. This time, I ignore it. Carly's giving me the cold shoulder, and I need Cat's warm one to thaw me out.

The rest of the day is like that. Cat pressed up against me, while Carly gets further and further away. Carly's been mad at me before. A lot, actually. Especially lately. But this is different. Carly's quiet with her anger, but it bubbles up and out. It bursts out in her words and scalds my skin, and then it's just a matter of saying water-filled words to cool her down. This isn't a hot anger. She's cold and calm and covered in snow, and I can't see through her to the ocean beneath. She's not burning me with her words, she's barely speaking to me at all, and the words she does say are frosted. She's made a decision in her mind and pushed me out completely, and the more I seem to sink into Cat, the thicker the rime of frost on Carly grows.

I'm frostbitten by the time the school bell rings. Carly brushes by me with a short goodbye, and I can't stop my numb fingers from slamming my locker door shut. She doesn't even pause. I'm left with my fingers still pressed against the steel, backpack slung over my shoulder. No one bumps me on their way out. No one dares to. Soon everyone's gone. And then Cat's there with warm fingers and soft concern, and in the empty halls she dares a kiss over my knuckles, brief and gentle, with all the pressure of an exhaled breath.

"Can you come over?"

Cat's tongue runs out over her lips, and I wonder what flavour her lip gloss is today. "To your place?"

I nod, adjusting my backpack, the strap tugging at my curls. "Yeah." Cat fidgets with her bag, chewing her lip. "She won't be there. She's gone to Pasadena for some trip with her boyfriend." Technically, it's true. Mom went to Pasadena for a trip. It was supposed to be a weekend trip, but I'm pretty sure Mom hasn't known what day it is since Melanie left. She just throws the word weekend around whenever she wants an excuse to drink more. She's been gone since Friday, I think. Less of her crap was lying around, so I assume that's when she took off.

Cat hasn't been back since... since the first time. Her first time being inside my place, and my first time being inside... well, her. I haven't asked her over. Even when my mom's not there, it's still not a pleasant place to be. My room's only marginally better than the rest of the apartment. The only beer cans in it are root beer. I'm not even sure Cat really noticed what the place looked like that night. Her eyes were fixed on me, and it was dark and we were dizzy and my hands were on hers. I wouldn't ask her over now, but I need to. I don't want to spend the night alone, eating cold pizza because the microwave's broken and fighting the urge to drink every beer in the fridge. On nights like that I'd go to Carly's, and crash in her bed. She was warm and quiet, and her sheets were so crisp and clean. It felt like a room someone cared about, and being in it made me feel that way too. Like I was part of her family. I wonder if Melanie feels like part of her family. If she feels like part of ours. Not that Mom and I can even be called a family in anything but biology. I wonder if Melanie's anything like me. If we're twins in more than just looks. I wonder if she's got a little secret she can't tell, a little secret with a pretty voice and a cute smile.

Cat's hand on my cheek snaps me out of my reverie. "I'd love to come over."

/

It's pitch black inside when we get there. The apartment's closed in by brick walls on every side, and the shades are always pulled anyway. I turn on the light with a prayer. It wouldn't be the first time Mom forgot to pay the power bill. It flutters on, throwing a sickly yellow light over the room. I've picked up most of the bottles and cans, mainly so I wouldn't trip over them. I drop my bag on the floor by the door, Cat setting hers down more daintily.

"Did you want something to eat? Or drink?"

Cat shakes her head silently, lowering herself to the beat up sofa. I grab a root beer out of the fridge and join her, slamming the lid off the bottle on the pine coffee table before kicking my feet up on it. "Did you wanna watch a movie?"

Cat nods excitedly, a grin on her face.

"Anything in particular?"

She shakes her head. I raise an eyebrow.

"You're sure?"

She nods.

"Absolutely?"

She nods again.

"Cat, what are you doing?"

She nods, before pausing. Her eyebrows furrow down, chewing her lip. Eventually she shrugs, a frown still on her face.

"Why aren't you saying anything?"

She huffs. "I was seeing what it was like to be a mime." She twists her mouth. "It's harder than I thought. Do you think mimes ever forget they're mimes, and say something? Or do you think when they're not mimes, like when they're home, they forget and mime for things? Or are there families of mimes, who just spend their whole lives in silence? What do they talk about at dinner?"

"They don't. They just eat." I'm a lot like a mime around dinner myself. Except for all the noise I make while eating. And the contented sighs. It takes me a moment to realise that I've replied to Cat seriously. I actually listened to that like it mattered. I mean, I care about Cat, I do, but I can't listen to half the things she says. They're all like sugar; too much and it'll leave me exhausted with a rotted brain. "I'm gonna put something on, 'kay?"

"'Kay 'kay!" Cat kicks off her shoes and curls her feet up onto the sofa. "Can I have a sip of your root beer?"

"Sure." I call out over my shoulder, rifling through my movies. Most of them don't have covers, so it makes it a little hard to tell which is which. I settle on an action flick I haven't seen in a few years. From what I remember, it has a hero who survives a lot of explosions, and he gets the girl at the end. It's probably not Cat's cup of tea, but horror would turn her into a pee-soaked ball of fear. Not that it'd be anything new for that sofa. I throw myself into it with a grunt, grabbing the remote and clicking the tv on. Cat wriggles up beside me, taking my arm and slinging it behind her shoulders. I hold it stiffly for a moment, like it's still locked with frost from Carly's blizzard, but it melts soon enough, melding to Cat's form and holding her to me. I'm still not used to this. Touching someone without even thinking about it. The only person I was like that with was Carly, and I don't think it'd be like that now. There are days with Cat where it's easy, where I forget about my body and her body and we just click together instinctively. It's only when I think about it, when I remember all the parts of me and all the parts of her that it becomes hard. It seems like it's the wrong way around. It should be easier to touch her when I remember it's _her_, and harder when I let my mind wander. But maybe it's my mind that gets in the way. Maybe my body remembers when my mind forgets. It knows how to be around her so much better than I do. Cat never seems to forget how to touch me.

She tastes like rootbeer. My rootbeer. She's made it her taste, made it so everytime I drink it the first thought in my head is of her lips. It was rootbeer on her lips when she first kissed me, and it's rootbeer now, and she makes it just as potent as real beer. Every time she kisses me, it makes me realise how thirsty I really am, and it's not beer bottles on the floor I have to worry about, it's her on the floor, because if I keep kissing her like this, it's exactly where we're going to end up.

The movie skips and stutters halfway through, returning to a blank screen with a spinning dvd logo.

We barely even notice.

/

**A/N: REVIEWS PLZ.**

**Imagine if that was all I put for the A/N. How boring would that be? Why would you imagine something so boring. That's not what your imagination is for. Your imagination is for making two people bone who don't do it in real life (or at least don't film it).**

**No wait, that's my job. Look, you obviously don't know how to use this imagination thing, so I'll just do it for you okay.**

**I've been imagining things for years. Especially relationships.**

**...**

**I've made myself sad.**

**Reviews will make me happy again, or at least stop me talking so much. And who doesn't want at least one of those things?**


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, but _especially _not this.**

/

The city is loud. There's always cars screeching past, the sound of footsteps and voices, sometimes laughing, sometimes angry. There's the hum of the streetlights and the groaning of the pipes in the walls. The far off fuzz of other people's televisions, and the slamming of their doors. The city is loud, but Cat is louder. The quietest of her breaths drowns out everything else, or maybe I'm just deaf to the world when I'm with her.

We ended up in my bed, and it's not surprising in the least. I bury myself in her in private, and push her away in public. There are only extremes with her. If she's not making me happy, she's making me miserable, and it's no fault of her own. Maybe I'm just finally feeling things like she does, with the volume turned up to max. Right now though, the only thing I'm feeling is her.

She's warm, and she's soft, and she melts under me in the darkness until she coats my skin. Her mouth tastes like mine, and I'm sure I taste like hers, and her hands are just as hungry as mine are. The darkness adds an urgency, a fumbling desperation that feels like passion, like anger, like things that make my heart race and my head hurt. It feels like a crime, and they've never felt wrong to me. Only something you shouldn't get caught doing.

The sound of her breath disappears, my fingers clutching at cold air and then thin sheets as her breath reappears, warm on my thighs. Her lips burn and her tongue scorches, and when I kiss her next she'll taste of me even more. Every little part of me is pulled to pieces, reassembled by her touch, and she makes a prettier picture of me than I ever could. Her hands are much defter than mine. Cat's fingers splay on my thighs, slight and delicate, as light as her breath. She's the only one that's ever pinned me, the only one I can't overpower. She's found the lock to my weakness, and twisted her key in it. Pain, I can stand. Pleasure? I couldn't push her away if I wanted to. I say her name like a swear word, and it feels dirty on my lips. Like blood spat from my lungs, from some wound she's clawed in me. A pinprick of her tongue, an arrow of her breath. Fucking shouldn't feel like fighting, and it definitely shouldn't feel this good to lose.

A curl of her fingers, an internal _'come hither'_, and I'm gone, muscles twisting tight, spine a tightened cord. She makes a treasure map of me, her lips leaving the _X _to dash their trail back to the start, pattering up over my stomach, between my breasts, until they touch over my lips. _You are here_, in thick, bold print.

My last memory is of her panting in my ear, nails pricking my back. My fingers are slick and hot, twisting and sliding and writhing inside of her. Picking a familiar lock, turning her tumblers. When I wake up, she's gone, and I'm tangled in the sheets, an arm thrown out for something that's no longer there. She left a note on my bedside table, bright red letters and exuberant hearts. She had to go. There's a dampness on my cheek, and I touch my fingers to it tentatively. It smells of coconut. Her lipgloss. She kissed my cheek before she left. It leaves me wishing I'd never wiped it off, that I'd let it dry in the imprint of her lips. A kiss no one could see.

She's already left the ghost of her touch on me. I can smell her on my skin, a thin film painted over me, and I'm loathe to wash it off. I'd stay and linger in her a little longer if it weren't for the flashing of my digital clock. I might just make it on time if I skip breakfast. For a moment, I almost consider that an option. Skipping yesterday was bad enough. I pull myself out of bed, almost slipping on a dirty t-shirt I've left on the floor. I'm not sure what day it's from, but it's in good company. Half of my clothes are scattered on the floor, and last night only added to the pile.

I pad to the bathroom, still half-asleep. I have this weird sort of afterglow in my muscles, and that's the only way I can describe it. Like my muscles ate a huge meal, and now they're sitting back, patting their bellies. But I suppose they've had their fill of touch. Maybe it was more than just a film she left, maybe it was something that seeped down into my blood. Something that's stroked my muscles, something that's tugged at my heart and lodged in my lungs. How can I keep her a secret when she's all over me? When she's in every exhale, every twitch underneath my skin, every pump of my heart.

I twist at the knobs of the shower, wincing as cold water sputters onto me, pipes squealing behind the tiles. It warms up eventually, pattering down over my shivering skin. My back twinges, my hand twisting to paw at it reflexively. Raised lines etch the skin, rough where the skin is just barely broken. Cat's nails are short but sharp. She left more than just a mark on my insides. Part of me likes it, that I made this soft girl flex her claws. The pain doesn't bother me, it's barely a mosquito bite. I've had cats claw me far worse than she did. I know that if I tell her, if I show her the ribbed red lines that she scrawled on my back, she'll blush brighter than her hair. I know that she'll stroke them, as if she could take them away with softness, I know that she'll apologise and swear to never do it again. And I know that she will do it again. That's the part I don't like. My insides are hidden, I can hold my breath and still my muscles, and you'd never guess she was even there. But this is a mark, a signature on my skin, and if anyone sees it, it'll raise questions I can't answer. Questions I'm not ready to answer.

I roll my shoulders in a shrug, fingers slipping away from the scratches. I'll just wear another layer of clothing. No one ever sees me shirtless anyhow. Carly's the only one, and somehow I don't think I'll be changing clothes in front of her anytime soon. But I'm not thinking about her. Cat banished her from my head, and I'm not ready to let her back in yet. I feel good, _really_ good, and sometimes that's what makes me think it's love. That even the memory of Cat makes me smile. She takes away all the bad, everything. When I'm with her, just her, and I can hold her and kiss her and laugh at her jokes and be the fantastic person she still thinks I am, I'm happy. When it's just us, there's nothing else. She makes me better than who I am. That's what love's supposed to do, isn't it? That's how it supposed to make you feel, right?

If it's love, why can't I say it out loud? Why can't I hold her hand in public without my palms sweating? If it's love then why am I so scared of it? Of people knowing. I thought I knew who I was, what I was, and I was content that way. She's made me into something else, and maybe it's better in some ways, maybe it's not as angry, not as destructive, but it's so much more fragile. She's made me into someone I'm not sure I want to be. I'm different with everyone I'm with, and I'm left wondering which is real. Whoever I am, it's someone Carly doesn't seem to like.

I turn the shower off, a few dribbles of water gurgling down the drain. I wrap the fluffy yellow towel around me, skin reddened from the hot water. Honestly, I'd rather not even go to school, but there's nothing for me to do here except clean, and even school is better than that. I wipe the mirror with a hand, turning to examine the marks on my back. It definitely looks worse than it feels. They'll probably be gone after a day or two. And then I can started on making new ones.

I grin at the thought, opening the door to the bathroom and going out into the hall. I like to think I make up in private for all the affection I can't show Cat in public.

"Sammy? 'zat you?"

The grin fades from my face. I guess Mom's home. Sooner than usual, too. Guess that means there's no chance of me staying home then. "Back from your weekend?" I say dryly, wrapping the towel tighter around me.

"My what? Oh! Yeah. Jimmy decided Pasadena wasn't really his style." She laughs, stumbling down the hallway towards me. My guess is Jimmy dropped her off, though I wouldn't put it past her to drive home like this. "How've you been, baby?"

I guess her affectionate stage is better than her abusive one, if slightly more nauseating. "Fine. Look, I've really got to get ready for school." I push past her to get to my room, the smell of beer and stale sweat whirling in the air. She grunts behind me, or maybe it was a burp. It's hard to tell what comes out of her sometimes.

I shut my door behind me, changing as quickly as I can. I don't feel like going back out there. If Mom's still in her nice phase, she'll try to make me breakfast, and if she's not, she'll throw her breakfast at me; a beer. I exit via the fire escape, converse tapping on the metal grid.

That warm, buzzing feeling has left my muscles, washed out by the presence of my mother. If Cat's a sunny day, then my mom's the storm clouds that cover it, and right now, it's raining while the sun is still shining, and that's the worst kind of all. I usually try to crash at Carly's whenever my Mom gets back from somewhere. It takes her a while to get out of party mode and back into sleeping-it-off-on-the-couch mode, and I don't feel like getting drunk with my future. It looks like I don't have much choice this time, unless Carly's gotten over whatever was bugging her. Not that she ever has before. Of course, this time's different to all the others already. I'd call her out on it, but I'm not sure what her response would be. Maybe she'd tell me what was wrong, or maybe she'd clam up even tighter. We don't even know who we are anymore, and I'm not sure how to get to know her again.

Everyone's in class by the time I get to school. I'm used to it. Actually, I prefer it. Less mouthbreathers hanging out in the halls, wheezing to their friends about homework. I grab a fatcake from my locker. I'm not sure how long it's been there, but hey, fatcakes last forever. They'd outlive any expiry date you printed on them.

My first class is English, and I make my way to it slowly. The teacher doesn't say anything when I enter, just sighs a little and turns back to the board. I think I just ruined her day. There's an empty desk beside Cat, and I slip into it, hanging my backpack over the back of my seat. Cat gives a little wave, a smile on her lips. I return the smile, eyes skating across the room to see Carly turning back to the front of the classroom. I guess she's not saying hi to me today. Things haven't gotten better then.

Cat looks around briefly before leaning over. There's a beatific smile on her face, dimples showing in her cheeks. "Sam." She chews her lip like there's some little secret she's just dying to share. "You blew off iCarly for me." She looks like her heart is about to burst with happiness.

I'm pretty sure mine just did. Just not with happiness. "I did?"

Cat giggles. "Yeah! There was a new episode last night! I haven't seen it yet, but I bet it's not the same without you. Not that Carly isn't a great host, because she is, it's just-"

I tune out, blinking dumbly. iCarly. Last night. Fuck. It's not the first time I've forgotten about the show, but it's the first time no one's even bothered to fucking call me. They went ahead and did it anyway. Without me. The only other time they did that was when I was in jail, and even then, Carly hated every minute of it. But I bet she loved this. I bet she laughed the whole time, thinking about how much it'd piss me off. Well, she was right. I don't know what she's got a stick up her ass about, but I'm either going to yank it out or push it in even further.

I think I'll deal with Freddie first, though. Carly would've had to bully him pretty hard to keep him from at least texting me, and I know for a fact he's never liked us fighting. He's never been much good in a fight. Or any time, really. Even if he can't tell me why Carly's acting like a bitch, I'll at least be able to take some of my aggression out on him. My eyes burn a hole in the back of his head, his hand reaching up to ruffle his short brunette hair, like he feels my gaze on him. A magnifying glass over a tiny ant, and he's starting to smoke. I can corner him after class. His fear of being tardy will only make it easier to wring the truth out of him.

One way or another, I'm ending this Carly thing.

/

**A/N: Review.**

**A simple word, but not really?**

**If we look at Webster's Dictionary, we find that- oh shit. I left my copy of Websters in my bedroom. Holding down a large spider.**

**I remember because I laughed after my initial terror pee at killing a spider with a 'webster'.**

**So... review.**

**A simple word.**

**If we look at _my life_, we find that reviews are defined as – things that make living in this spiderhell bearable.**

**So please review. The arachnids are massing.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: iCarly and Victorious are not owned by me, but I'm pretty sure I've written more about the crossover than the actual crossover that aired did.**

/

The metal of the locker door rattles as my fist slams into it, quivering under my knuckles. Freddie jumps, the beginnings of a swear word on his lips.

"Sam?" His eyebrows drag down. I survey the slight dent I've left in his locker door with pride. It matches all the other ones. "What do you want? I've got to get to class."

"What's the hurry, Fredbag?" I drawl, leaning against the cold front of lockers.

"I've got a test. If I'm late, well-" Freddie's jaw tightens. "You're not going to make me late."

I tilt my head, chewing my lip. "No... no, I'm pretty sure I'm going to make you late."

Freddie sighs, shifting the straps of his backpack on his shoulders. "Look, just make it quick, okay?"

Whatever Carly's pissed about, Freddie obviously doesn't know about it. He's treating me the same as he always does; with quiet exasperation. He probably knows just as much as I do. Still, he's my best shot at the moment. I'll aim at Carly later.

"What'd you do last night?"

Freddie blinks quickly, his mouth opening in indignation just a second too late. "Wh-what? I don't- nothing. I did homework."

"So what class is iCarly for, again? Bullshit 101?"

Freddie hunches his shoulders, gaze focussing on the floor. When he speaks his voice is quiet, resigned. "So you found out about that, huh."

"Are you really that stupid, Fredbag? Did you and Carly think I wouldn't find out about the gigantic, hugely popular webshow I helped fucking create? You're supposed to be the tech geek, and you couldn't see a problem with your little plan? Even my cat has fucking wifi." I don't bother telling him that it was Cat who told me. The last thing I need is for him to go all starry-eyed.

My hands have curled into fists, a slight rattle sounding as one tremors against the lockers, aching to just lash out. To find answers written in blood, apologies spat out in teeth. My hands have a real anger problem. One that I can't always control.

Freddie sighs. He presses a hand to his forehead, fingertips lingering for a moment. "It wasn't my plan." He says finally.

"But you went along with it." I spit.

"What choice did I have, Sam?" He shrugs, resigned.

That's what I hate about Freddie. That he shrinks himself down into this tiny little thing. That when conflict comes along, he rolls up like some pillbug and stays out of it. He refuses to pick a side, to form his own goddamn opinion. Maybe I could respect him if he was yelling at me too, but the acceptance in his voice, the helplessness... it's disgusting. Maybe it was understandable two years ago, even last year, when he was this short, weedy little geek who got picked on by the whole school. When any opinion he offered was wrong, simply because it was his. He's not that kid anymore, though. He's got muscles, and he's got at least some small amount of confidence, and no one but me picks on him now. About the only reason I do is because he makes it so easy. He'll take everything with tight shoulders and gritted teeth, and his muscles are useless for anything but flexing. He holds himself back, and he doesn't need to.

"You had a choice." I sneer. "What's up with Carly? Why's she being so-" There's a waver in my concentrated venom, a quiver in my voice. "Why's she being so mean?"

Freddie's face is solemn, brows drawn down. "I don't know, Sam."

I want to hit him. To blame him. To draw out whatever it is Carly's hiding from me, like it's mapped somewhere on his body, invisible ink that's revealed with bruises and contusions. I want to hurt him, because I can't hurt Carly, and hurting's the only thing I know how to do. But he's telling the truth, and he doesn't like it. "How bad is it?" I venture.

Freddie licks his lips, gaze flicking over to the clock that's on the wall across from us. He forces himself to lock back onto to me, despite his impatiently tapping foot. "It's bad, Sam. She hasn't- she hasn't said what it is, exactly. She rolls her eyes everytime I say your name." Freddie blinks, backpedalling. "N-not that I say your name, or anything. She wouldn't even let me call you last night. She's mad at you about something, and I think it might involve Cat."

I swallow over the lump that's suddenly surfaced in my throat. "Why would you think that?"

"She rolls her eyes at her name, too." Freddie straightens, hands moving to grip the straps of his backpack. "Look, I've really got to go, Sam. This test is like a quarter of my final grade, and if I don't-"

I wave a hand at him dismissively. "Fine. Go." I let out a long breath as Freddie hurries away.

"Hey." He pauses in the hall, twisted towards me. "You have to fix this, Sam. It's not right."

"Fuck off, Fredbag." I snarl the words out, Freddie's jaw tightening as he turns away, footsteps loud in the empty hall. He's right, though. I hate that he's right. I don't want to fix this. I mean, I do, I want Carly to look at me with that glow in her eyes, that laughter that lives in her pupils, in her smile. I want that again, I do, but I don't want to be the one that gives in. I didn't do anything wrong, I know I didn't. The only thing I've been is unreliable, and that's something I was when Carly met me. It never bothered her like this before. I don't even like apologising for something that I've done, let alone apologising for something I didn't do. I've been good. I've been fucking great, for her. Sure, I might've slipped up a few times, but I've kept myself from being caught. I've gone to Reuben for every session, hell, I've even listened to him a few times. I've done it all for her. I don't care if I go to juvy, it's what I've been preparing for my whole life, with every arrest, every pursuit, every squeal of a siren. I care about her, not about me. I'm doing this all for her, and she's shutting me out. I thought this was what she wanted.

But I'm not just doing it for her anymore. I'm doing it for Cat, too. I'm doing it with Cat. Waving at her in the waiting room. Committing those tiny crimes to stop me from doing anything bigger. The only difference between Cat and Carly is that Cat wouldn't be disappointed if I slipped up, she wouldn't feel betrayed if I fucked up and got sent away. She wouldn't be angry at me, she wouldn't yell. I couldn't disappoint her because she doesn't have any expectations for me. I'm still trying to decide whether that's a good thing or not.

Cat acts like I'm better than I am. Carly demands me to be.

I still want to hurt something. I want to destroy something beautiful, smash it and beat it until it's ugly and crumpled and irredeemable. I want to take something apart, pull at it until my muscles are screaming. Somehow that'll make me feel better. That I'm stronger than some inanimate object. That I have some effect on this world, some amount of control over it. Talking's never worked for me. Maybe I don't say the right words. Maybe they don't even exist in my vocabulary. I can't understand little problems, tiny worries over homework and dating and birthdays and _what should I wear_. I've only ever been good as a thug, and the people I care about keep looking straight through that, like there's something underneath I just can't find. I want to prove them wrong, because it's so much easier than trying to prove them right.

I go to the bathroom instead. The tiles on the floor are always damp, always shining dully. There's the acrid smell of disinfectant permeating the air. I suppose it's better than what it's covering up. I go into one of the stalls, flip the lid down on the toilet, and sit. I suppose I should go to class. I'm sure that if I miss a few more, they'll suspend me, if not worse. The thought doesn't really motivate me. That restless rage still crawls in me, sinuous and sliding. It strokes my muscles, churns in my stomach. It digs sharp claws into my throat, climbing up, up, up. It strokes the back of my tongue with razor talons, pinches my sinus, and makes my eyes prickle.

The first tear scalds my cheek. The air's so cold in here I'm surprised it doesn't steam. I hate this. Everything. I spend all this time scrabbling, scrambling to make everything in my life balance, and it never does. The scales are always tipped to one side. This thing with Cat, these feelings... they're something I've always wanted. Someone who cares about me, who isn't scared of me. But it's like having Cat want me has broken some kind of quota set for my life. Like there's only one person who can care about me at a time, and that's no longer Carly. I've got Cat, and she's everything I wanted, but she's not at the same time. She's a secret, and I never wanted that. I've got love, but I can't share it. I've got friends, but I can only have so many. I've got normalcy, but it's costing me my sanity. It's like no matter what I do, I can't fix anyone. I can only hurt them. I can't even fucking fix myself. I'm only good for breaking things. I'm only good at being bad.

I reach for a ream of toilet paper in the dispenser, one of those great metal things painted a sickly green. There's nothing but an empty cardboard roll, and I just, I just-

I can't, I _can't do it anymore._

The dispenser clangs as I drive a fist into it. The second blow makes it screech and squeal where it's bolted to the stall wall. I hit it again, and again, and again, until my hands are numb and it's a twisted and deformed thing, all angles and emptiness. My teeth are gritted so hard they creak, straining in my gums, and at some point I got to my feet to hit this stupid fucking empty thing even harder. It's not enough. It's never enough. I hit it more, I hit it until my hands can't even ball into a fist anymore, until even the adrenaline can't stop the pain throbbing through my knuckles. I hit it until it clatters to the tiled floor, jagged holes in the wall where the bolts bit in. And it's loud, it's so loud. The metal screams, my breath is burning air, my hands throb with the beat of my heart, where my veins have climbed too close to the surface. It's all so loud, and I can't stand the silence underneath. The quietness of the bathroom, the stillness. I want someone to come in, to yell at me. To pull me out of this stall and tell me how stupid I am. I want someone to care, about me, about school property, about anything. I want someone to look at my hands, to hold my wrists gingerly, and whisper, _So this is how much you've been suffering_.

But it's school, and no one cares. Not even I care anymore.

There's a little blood on my knuckles, where my reckless fists hit corners, rust smeared on the green paint. The pink liquid soap stings the abrasions as I wash my hands. My skin is just a twinge compared to my bones. My grazes will heal in a few days, but my bones will ache for much longer. Weeks, maybe. It doesn't really matter. I was never planning to be a concert pianist anyhow. The soap smells like chemical roses. It gets inside my nose, tickling.

I study myself in the mirror, the glass smeared and spotted. I don't know what I expect to see. Something broken, something blue. Something borrowed, or something new. Some sign of turmoil in my eyes, some wrinkle in my brow. Some lifted lip or flared nostril. Something different, at least. I just see me, and it's the same.

At least I'm not crying anymore.

/

**A/N: Reviews are like sandwiches. Sometimes they're simple. Maybe just some cheese, between two slices of bread. Some are more complex. Maybe there's some tomato on there, the crisp lettuce of praise, a bit of tangy criticism spread over the bread. Maybe it's toasted, and all in capslock. Or maybe someone hated the chapter and it's just their knuckles waiting to punch when I try to eat their deceptive reviewich.**

**Whatever kind of sandwich you make, I will consume it gladly.**

**But make sure it has bacon.**

**Just.**

**Everything bacon, actually.**


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: Nothing of Dan Schneider's belongs to me. I don't even think we drink the same soda.**

**A/N: Thanks go to the amazing wtfgrandma for the image now adorning this fic. Check it out, yo.**

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Cat doesn't say anything.

About my hands. She notices the slight abrasions, the puffy flesh. She's the only one that does. Carly doesn't even look at me when I slump into my seat. Freddie only gives me a glance. I probably made him fail his test in the last class. Cat reaches a hand across the gap between our desks, and touches softly, softly. Not softly enough. I wince, hand jerking under her curious fingertips, and now I'm glad no one's noticed. I wouldn't want them to see the care with which she treats me. I move my hand away from hers, gaze fixed on my desk. I don't want her melting sympathy today. Once it dries, it's too hard to get off me. It's too difficult to move, coated in her candy kindness. It's too tempting to just stay still, encased in her.

I take down notes with clumsy fingers, letters scrunched and messy. The teacher's voice drones dully, punctuated with the occasional burst of laughter and quiet chatter from some of the other kids. There are notes passed between desks, sticks of gum tossed over to a friend without even a glance. There was a time when that was all I did in class. Laughed and joked and shared with Carly, while she tried to be good and listen, a little smile on her face. It's not that way anymore.

Cat doesn't try to touch me again.

She finds me in the halls after school, and I wonder how predictable I really am. I always seem to be the last to leave. Maybe because there's nowhere for me to be. Nothing to hurry off to. School's almost bearable without life in it, when it's quiet. When the lights start shutting off, and you realise this place with so many people isn't anyone's home. If a place can feel lonely, it's a school without anyone in it.

But there is someone in it. There's me, and there's Cat. For a brief, fleeting moment I feel like making this our home. This empty, echoing place. I feel like telling her to come with me, to not go home, to never go home because we're already here. I feel like leading her to the gym, to the little hole in behind the bleachers, the alcove where I've spent so many lunchtimes. It's filled with old magazines and chocolate bars and more than a few items I've taken from kids not strong enough to keep them. I haven't been there in months. Maybe the teachers or the janitor have found it, maybe it's nothing but a dark cold space again. An oversight left on a blueprint.

"Why are you sad?" Cat cuts straight to the point, hands twisting in front of her. Her voice is soft, like it's sacrilege to talk above a whisper in these hollow halls.

Maybe it is, because I can't seem to raise my voice any louder than hers, and it comes out so hoarse as a whisper. "I'm just going through a lot of stuff right now, Cat."

"What kinda stuff?"

I shut my locker door, the clang a thunderclap in the still silence. "Just stuff. Stuff with Carly, stuff with-" _With you._ "With me."

"Stuff with your hands?" She murmurs quietly, and I scour her voice for some trace of amusement, of sarcasm. But there is none. She doesn't have the wry humour that Carly does, only the soft sweetness. She doesn't think what I've done to my hands is because of stupidity. She doesn't think I'm stupid at all. I don't know if it's because she's dumber than me, or she genuinely thinks I'm not. Maybe she sees something deep in me, or maybe she's just fooled by the surface. Whatever she thinks, she's missed the thick layer of stupid smeared in between my skin and bones. "Are you mad at them?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Why would I be mad at my hands, Cat?"

"Because of the things they've done." She glances down at her own hands, where they twist over each other, and I wonder if she's talking to herself. Talking to her past. I've examined her hands. With my eyes, with my lips. They're perfect. Not a scar or blemish on them. Whatever she did with them, it didn't leave a mark.

I've done a lot of things with my hands. Acts of violence, acts of rebellion. Crude, ugly things, requiring no finesse or grace. Brute muscle and clenched fists. My hands are littered with scars, palms thick with calluses. My hands aren't slight and graceful, they're heavy, hamfisted things. Everything they've done has been caused by anger.

Except for one thing.

Except for Cat. They're delicate with her. They have a gentleness I didn't know they could possess. They can glide just above her skin, tickling only the fine hairs that stipple her. They can feel her softness, her slightness. The steel of her bone underneath, the strings of her muscles. They can feel her warmth, the pounding of her blood and the rising of her breath. They turn into delicate instruments with her. They feel like hands then, and not just fists.

"No." I murmur. "Not because of the things they've done."

Because they represent everything about me. The anger, the rage. The violence and the hate and the destructiveness. The unfurling Cat brings about in me. The softness I hide in a closed palm. My hands are the essence of me, moreso than any other part, and maybe that's why they get hurt first. Why, whenever I'm upset, they're the first to pay. Maybe it's why Cat places a kiss on them now, lips lighter than a butterfly wing. Barely a flutter.

"Then I'm sorry they're hurt." Her breath is warm against my knuckles, and I swear I can feel the way her breath changes as she shapes the words. I can feel the letters littering her lungs, and they make my hands a little less stiff, a little less rigid. They sink into the swelled skin, like drops of icewater.

I take a shallow breath, ribs squeezing my lungs tight. "Are your parents expecting you?"

Cat lets my hand go, giving her head a little shake, ruby red locks flying. I don't really know why I bothered asking. Cat's never gotten a worried call from them, or even a text. She could be out somewhere lying in a ditch, and they wouldn't even care. Luckily she's with me, which is at least slightly better. Warmer than a ditch, certainly. "Are we going to your place again?"

My tongue runs out over my lips, eyes falling. "No... my mom's home."

"Oh." Cat chews her lip for a moment. "Where are we going then?"

She says 'we' so casually. Like she expects us to be together. Like we come as a package.

I like it.

"There's a place I want to show you."

It hurts to take her hand, but it hurts even more not to. The way to the gym is clear, halls bright and empty. They haven't turned the lights off in here yet. The only sign of life is the distant sound of a janitor's cart, wheels squeaking. The gym is dark. It's usually the first place to be extinguished.

The heavy doors close behind us with a loud metallic click that cuts through the still air. We walk forward through the darkness, feet unsure. Cat rummages for her phone, using the screen for light and handing it to me. We pick our way across the smooth floor of the gym, footsteps reverberating through the high-ceilinged room. At some point, the bleachers in here could pull back in. They'd just press a button and the whole thing would whir back into the wall. Spence told us about it once. He'd pointed to a scar on his ankle and told us how he'd been gathering stuff for art class (soda cans and dead cockroaches), when suddenly he'd heard a loud grinding noise, and it'd started to slide back in. He'd run as fast as he could, and he'd almost made it out. The only part that didn't was his foot. The whole thing had ground to a halt, made a sick metallic squeal, and Spencer had wrenched his foot out, losing his sneaker in the process. But what he'd lost in a shoe, and a significant amount of blood, he'd gained in a story, or so he said. I'm convinced it was actually Spencer who broke the whole thing. It's never worked since I started coming here. Maybe his sneaker's still crammed in some gears somewhere, quietly rotting.

I sometimes wonder how he never found this place. Spencer's always had a knack for finding things other people didn't. It seems almost impossible he wouldn't have weaselled out a place like this. Or maybe he did find it. Maybe it was his secret too. If it was, he left no trace behind.

I pick my way behind the bleachers, toe kicking against one of the metal rungs in the structure, making it ring. It's about halfway along. I don't know if it was originally meant to be a room, or if it's some mistake they never got around to fixing. Maybe they thought the bleachers would hide it, but they didn't count on Spencer. The wall running behind the bleachers is a mix of thin plywood and the white walls that climb above it. Holes they forgot to fill in. I tug on Cat's hand, lowering myself to my knees. The entrance is a roughly sawed rectangle in one of the plywood boards, a thin slice extending beyond one corner, like they'd meant to make it larger, make it into something. Or realised too late it was never meant to be there at all.

"Through here." I crawl in on my knees, Cat's phone tucked into my pocket. As soon as I'm in I whip it out. There's a little lantern I brought in here, a few months after I first found the place. I'm hoping the batteries still work in it. I find the light with the cold glow of Cat's screen, Cat huffing as she crawls in through the small entrance. I flick the switch, and with a slight buzz and hum, the lantern stutters into life, throwing out a soft yellow light. The room's small. Long enough to lie down in, with a little left over, but not wide enough to do the same. I managed to sneak an old air mattress in here, rolled up in my backpack. I spent more than a few hours trying to pump it up with a bike pump. It's flat now, but I sit on it anyway, tugging one of the few cushions scattered over it behind my back. I pat next to me, drawing my feet up so Cat can pass. It's held up pretty well. It's a little dustier than I remember, and there might be a few more bug carcasses, but that just gives it personality.

She brushes her skirt off once she sits, her hand coming to rest on my thigh as she gazes about in wonder. "How did you find this place?"

"I set off some fireworks in one of the teacher's bathrooms. They chased me into the gym, so I hid behind the bleachers, and then I just sort of... stumbled onto it. Had a lot of rat skeletons in it back then." I'm pretty sure it was a rat burial ground, if anything. I used to hear squeaking in the walls. Ghost squeaks. "But I spruced the place up a little."

"Who else knows about it?" Cat's eyes are fixed on the large poster across from us. Some punk band I was into a couple of years ago, that I never really got around to taking down.

"No one, I think. This was sort of my... my hideaway." This place was my refuge, really. On the days when I didn't feel like being around people, but I was too poor to even nurse a coffee in some cafe somewhere. When my mom got too grating, when her blows got too heavy, I'd come here early, cloister myself away until all the other kids arrived. I even spent some nights here, when Carly was away, or I didn't feel like bothering her. The windows in this school are pathetically easy to jimmy. It's my home away from home, just like Carly's place is.

Just like Carly's place was.

I gave this home up though. When Carly cried over my very last chance, like she was already saying goodbye to me. When Reuben first looked down at me, like I was some cadaver he was waiting to slice open and catalogue the mess inside. When my mom slung her arm around me and crowed with liquor on her breath about how proud she was that her baby was following in the family footsteps. Footsteps that were linked by chains.

This place was the running part of me. The place I came when it was too hard to deal with everything. This place was the past, and it was something I had to give up. But it turns I couldn't deal with anything after all. I gave up one home for the promise of Carly's, a promise that couldn't be kept. Maybe I can make a new home, with Cat. A secret one, squirrelled away in the walls, where no one can touch us, no one can find us. I can get the bike pump and inflate the mattress again, I can tear down that old poster and put up one Cat likes. I can get her favourite snacks and drinks and put them in the cooler that's slung in the corner. She can bring her magazines, and I can bring some comics, and we can run away from the world together. We can sit in here all through school, and our hands will never have to leave each other. I'll never have to shrug her away, or turn my cheek when she tries to kiss me. It can be like that night with her on the rooftop, but every day. I can stick glow in the dark stars above us, get a blanket, some more pillows. Maybe if it's quiet enough, we could play music, or at least share headphones.

I rest my head against Cat's shoulder, her warmth bleeding into my cheek, even through her top. It's so easy to lose myself in these thoughts. To close my eyes and focus on Cat's arm circling me, delicate fingers playing with my hair. It's too easy to imagine a life where I'm happy, a life where I'm running away, running, running, running. It's too easy to imagine.

What if we could be happy here? For a few hours a week, for a few days a month. What if I could put my heart here, and she could put hers, and we could have a home. Together. A place where we wouldn't have to worry about our parents, a place that was just ours. What if we could go out to some store, and pick things to put in here? If we could share a secret smile over the house just for us. Cat could run up to some curtains, twirl them around her. _What about this?_ She'd giggle, and everything about her would sparkle, and there'd be laughter in my voice when I reminded her we didn't even have windows. She'd put herself into this place, make it something that couldn't be erased. This place could be a we, not just a me.

What if we could be happy? What if we really could?

* * *

**A/N: Happiness is a funny thing. Sometimes all it takes is a tiny thing, like a kitten falling over when it tries to run somewhere. Or seeing a tiny flower growing from the cracks of a sidewalk. Or submerging yourself in cake.**

**Reviews make me happy. And the cake thing. That too.**

**Mainly the cake thing.**


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I own neither of these characters, nor the shows from which they spring.**

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I leave Cat with a kiss.

I don't know how long we sat in there, talking about nothing and everything and anything. Movies we'd seen, ones we hadn't but we'd heard this and that about them, and didn't that actor in that movie also star in this one? No, that was that other guy who was in that show about that thing. We drifted along in the soft, humming light, and it felt like a romantic dinner at some fancy restaurant with candles on the tables. It felt like the small smiles and accidental brushing of hands and the shy game of footsie underneath that pristine tablecloth. All we had was a cheap, buzzing lantern and a few stale candy bars, chocolate chalky on our tongues, but it felt like more. It felt... intimate, and that's not really something I've had anywhere, fancy restaurant or not. It felt like that moment when you see two people, so utterly unaware of the world around them, so enraptured in each other. It felt like that twist of the heart right before I'd scowl and complain how annoying they are.

My moments with Cat are just that; moments. They're rushed, hurried things. Unzipped pants and nipping teeth and shaking fingers. They're a relationship packed into a few minutes, but in here, in this place, I never did more than hold her hand. I finally had the time to be with her, in a place no one could ever find us. Like being with her in a dream, in some private world, some shared hallucination. We didn't have to spit out our broken parts, hiss all the things that are wrong with us. We didn't have to spend each moment patching another leak that sprang in us, hands desperately trying to cover them all. We got to be normal. I got to be normal, and just talk to someone. Talk about stupid things, unimportant things. The way I used to talk to Carly. And somehow talking to Cat this way feels more important than telling her how hard it is, how I can't stand the pressure bearing down on me. She can't fix Carly for me, just like I can't fix the hurt that Jade did to her. The best we can do is distract each other, and that's invaluable right now.

I wanted to stay in there all night with her. I wanted to hold her against me until her rambling grew slower and more disjointed, until it turned to a soft murmur and then to sleep. But the chill touched us more closely than we could ourselves, and candy bars don't make much of a meal. The only thing that made saying goodbye less bittersweet was the thought that there could be other nights like this. That there was finally somewhere I could be with her and not be with me, with all the versions that I am. It wasn't until she disappeared out of sight, ruby hair touched with fingers of radiance from the streetlights, that the cold really set in. That I remembered how much my hands hurt, and how much my heart hurt, and how much everything hurt. But that's not right, is it? To forget everything when I'm with her. It doesn't sound like a good thing, it shouldn't be a good thing; to lose everything that I am. Everything about her is supposed to feel wrong, everything I do with her should feel that way, but she just feels like silence. Like the whole world is screaming at me, and she's a pair of earplugs, a soft touch on the cheek. She's comfort, and she makes me forget why I even need it.

I watch her disappear, and all I can think is when I'll see her tomorrow. How my heart will race when she walks towards me. How she'll touch my hand to make sure it's okay and I'll pull back and hate myself for it a little more. How she'll understand, and smile at me anyway.

I shove my aching hands deep into my pockets, backpack sitting low on my spine, jolting me with every step. The streets are cold and empty, wind whispering through the leaves of sparse trees, around the metal trunks of streetlights. I should be thinking of Carly, of this mess I can't seem to get out of. I should be thinking of what I'm going to find at home. Whether I'll have to call another ambulance for mom, or maybe one for myself. Whether she'll have one of her sleazy boyfriends there, the kind that stare at everything on me but my face. Whether she'll be alone, crying, calling out for me.

I should be thinking about those things. I should have a sense of dread stealing over me, colder than the icy fingers of wind that pry at me. But all I'm thinking about is Cat. How her cheeks dimple when she smiles. How sometimes that smile is a tiny thing, blossoming as a hand tucks her hair behind her ear. I picture her going to sleep, tucked up in that vibrant bed of hers. Her breath would be minty from brushing her teeth, her hair damp from her shower. She'd be in pyjamas spattered with cartoon animals, and they'd smell like fresh linen, of warmth. I imagine her waking up in the morning, applying each stroke of her make-up carefully. Picking out what she'll wear for the day. Wondering if I'll like it, if I'll notice. If today will be the day I hold her hand instead of pushing it away. Instead of all these very real problems I have, my mind is fixed on her. On the little minutiae of her life, and those things make the wind bite less cruelly. They make my blood surge harder, glow through my veins. All these little parts of her life. All these little parts I wish I was there for, just because they're parts of her.

I let out a long, uneven breath, shoulders hunched against the cold, the noise of the city humming in the background.

I think I love her.

My heart shudders in my chest, a stutter in the rhythm, a little hiccup of blood.

I love her.

I do. I have to. The _maybe_ that always wavered after the thought isn't here this time. There is no maybe, there is no casualness about the thought. I'm not thinking in the afterglow of fucking her, it's not the last thought before I slip into sleep, and maybe it doesn't matter when I think it, maybe it's just as real those times as it is now, but there's no excuse to push it away with this time. I'm bitterly cold, and hungry, and my mind is clear, and sharp. And she's all that fills it, even when there are so many other pressing things. I know what I feel, and there's no hesitance in it. It's not the right time, it isn't. I'm not ready for it, I'm not ready for her, and that's part of what makes me think I mean it this time. I didn't choose when to love her, I didn't choose to do it at all.

But I do.

I want to call her, I want to ask her in a shivering voice if it's okay. I want to tell her like I'm spilling a secret, and she's the only one that gets to know. I want to say the words slowly to her, in a voice that doesn't quaver. I want to see her face and know if she feels it too.

I have to love her. She's all the things I've never done, and she's all the things I want to do. I can barely think back to the days when I thought of her as some floating airhead with no real problems but boredom and an excess of time on her hands. I can't remember when her every word raised bile in my throat, from the saccharine sweetness of it all. I can't remember what if felt like to not want to kiss her, to not want to touch her. I can't remember what it felt like to be unafraid of her.

A dog breaks out into raucous barking, the sound echoing off the high walls of the buildings surrounding me, impossible to trace. There's an answer from a few streets away, a high yipping noise. It jolts me back into reality, into me, and I realise my feet have led me in the wrong direction. They've led me away from my block, towards Carly's, and it's with a pang of regret that I turn them the right way. It was instinct that led me to her. Ever since we first became friends, she was the one I told everything to. Every little piece of news, every victory, every defeat. I showed her the first candybar I ever stole, presented it to her like some shining prize. She took it with a conspiratorial smile, glancing around like she expected to be arrested as an accomplice or something. The first Pearpod I stole was met with a scowl and drawn in eyebrows. I returned it. I never told her that.

I want to tell her this. This huge thing that's just bloomed in me.

I love her.

I love Cat, and someone should know. Cat should know, but it shouldn't be over the phone. It shouldn't be in a text. It should be something special, not something blurted and hurried, like the rest of our relationship. It should be something breathed into her skin, something sunk into her bones. I want her to hear it every time she looks at me. I want her to remember the first time I said it, and maybe it'll feel like this. The first time I felt it. Maybe it'll feel like the first time she touched me, the first time her fingers trembled between my thighs.

I want to tell Carly, to present it as proudly as I did that candybar. I want Carly to squeal and hug me, a grin on her face. I want her to fuss over every little detail, to interrogate me over every look I ever exchanged with Cat. I want to relive every moment with Cat through Carly, through her excitement. I want to smooth over the scars of the past, laugh at all the times with Cat that hurt, that tore me apart when they happened. I want to make everything rose-coloured, but Carly's always been better at shades of pink than me. I want someone to know, and I want it to be Carly.

I want- My foot nudges a loose chunk of concrete, sending it skittering over the cracked pavement.

It doesn't matter what I want. If I called Carly right now, she wouldn't pick up. If I texted her our emergency code we made up when were thirteen, I'm not even sure she'd answer that. And if she did, it'd only be out of some sense of duty. She'd yell at me for dragging her out of her home for nothing, and things would only be worse.

I kick the pebble again, a metallic clang sounding as it bounces into a streetlight. What if the reason Carly's so mad at me is because she already knows? She knows me better than anyone else. Maybe she saw it coming that first day Cat skipped up to us, when I didn't strike her down. Maybe she was holding that knowledge in the night we studied, biting it back, keeping her lips tight to prevent it from leaking out. Maybe that's why I haven't tried to fix things with Carly yet. Because what if I can't? What if the reason she hates me is because I'm exactly what she thinks I am? What if she accuses me, and I can't say no? I can't say Cat is nothing, I can't say I don't... I can't say I don't love her. Not to Carly. Not anymore. Cat isn't something dirty, she isn't something I should have to hide. She's not something I ever wanted to hide. Even if it means losing Carly over, I'll tell her the truth, and hopes it's something else she's mad at me over. I'll even pray, even though I gave up doing that years ago, when Melanie never came back.

The elevator's working when I enter the lobby of my apartment building, creaking and groaning to a halt in front of me after I press the call button. It smells like stale smoke, and there's a small length of rubber tubing coiled in the corner, no doubt from some desperate neighbour of mine who couldn't wait to get home for their fix, but I step in with a smile regardless. This day that started off so poisonous, that started out so painful, has ended on a soft, sweet note. A note that's trilled Cat's name. Things with Carly are still fucked, and they might be fucked forever. But I have Cat. I have a place where the memory of her is safe, no matter what happens. I have a new home for my heart, and it has a roommate.

I open the door to the apartment with a deep breath. Expecting silence. Expecting screaming. Expecting laughing, swearing, low, angry whispers. What I'm not expecting is mom sitting on the sofa, eyes bleary but still focussed, locking on to me as soon as I enter the room. Her lip curls, a cigarette pinched between her fingers, the other hand setting down a sweating can of beer on the coffee table. She leans forward, with the exaggerated care of a drunk, fingers sliding forward a piece of paper that lays smoothed out on the chipped wooden surface of the table. A chunk of ash falls onto the paper from her trembling hand, obscuring a word.

_Love_.

It's the note Cat left in my room this morning.

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**A/N: Cliffhanger alert omg. What a tease I am, ending a chapter this way. What a scoundrel. What a rapscallion. What a butt.**

**Reviews are appreciated, especially ones that tell me what I am, exactly.**


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing at all.**

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My blood freezes in my veins, thickens to sludge. My heart thuds painfully, trying to push the slush through my body. My tongue's glued to the bottom of my mouth, paralysed with all the words it wants to shape, all the excuses and the angry questions and the terrified pleas and the casual dismissals.

Mom sucks on the glowing cigarette in her fingers, end burning brighter. It's quiet enough to hear the paper burning, a soft sound like tickling, whispering. There's a coiled calmness in her body, like she's a snake waiting to strike. I don't know how to play this. I don't know whether I should be puffing out my chest and bluffing my way through with bravado. Maybe I should be cowering, reminding her of that little girl who did the same, every night she came home drunk and pissed about something. Maybe I should be angry, demanding how it's any of her fucking business. I'm cycling through all the characters I should be, all the different costumes I don to get what I want, and I can't find a single one that fits. Because I don't want anything from her, I just want to get away from her. I just want to close my eyes and pretend I'm still in that room with Cat, holding her hand. That I'm at Carly's, and this past year has all been a bad dream.

The cigarette's burnt down to Mom's yellow-stained fingertips by now, and she twists it out on the letter. I watch my name go up in flame with a wince, eaten away by the last gasp of the cigarette before it's nothing but dead ash. She pulls herself to her feet unsteadily. She'll always be taller than me, always tower over me. I got my shortness from my dad. At least, that's what I've always been told. It's just another thing wrong with me. Not smart enough, not fast enough, not strong enough, not tall enough. Not straight enough.

I can see Mom mumbling words in her mouth, jostling them about, searching for the sharpest ones that'll do the most damage. "Fucking dyke." She settles on. It's a whipcrack off her tongue, and she follows it up with another lash. "Did you think I wouldn't fucking find out?" She takes a step forward, leg bumping against the low coffee table. "You've had her here." She hisses, the words slipping between her teeth. She takes a wheeze of a breath, straightening. "You had that- that _slut_ in here." I choke back the vitriol that stings my throat. Her calling Cat a slut... that's something I hear in my own voice, something I thought bitterly the night after I met her. Something I thought to make that first kiss mean nothing. Mom's voice isn't so different from mine. "Everyone always said to me that you were no good, that Melanie was the only one worth keeping. She was the one that was supposed to be born. You were just a mistake. That's why we sent Mel away-"

"You didn't send her away, Mom-" I break in, unable to stay silent. "They _took_ her away. They took her away because of how shitty a Mom you are."

"Then why did they leave you?" She sneers the words I used to whisper to myself every night, and they sound just as painful out loud. "I knew you weren't no good. I said to myself, my Sammy might be a criminal, and she might be dumb as a post, but at least she's-" Her lip curls, gaze falling to the scorched note. "At least she's not a dyke."

My teeth clench, muscles taut in my jaw. My hands have curled into fists without my noticing, a dull throb in the stiff joints. I want to fight her, to throw her words back in her face. But she's right. She's always right. I'm everything I'm afraid to be, and she names my fears every time I walk through that door. I was the monster under Melanie's bed, and I was forced to come out once that bed was cold and empty. I swapped the bed for the closet. I changed the setting but not the situation. I'm still hiding, still cowering, hoping I won't be found. I was never meant for the light. I was a mistake, and I'd fix that if I could. But not for her. Not for Mom. I'm a mistake, but I'm not hers. A monster doesn't hide, it doesn't shut itself away. I'm not the monster here, she is. I'm only just starting to realise she's another fear I can't face.

"Why did you go into my room?" I say the words quietly, spacing them out between my heartbeats. Slowing them down doesn't seem to help. It only makes the shaking in them that much more obvious.

She ignores the words, table screeching as she moves forward, shoving it out of the way. "Did that slut do that to your back?"

"Do what?"

"Did you let her scratch you up?" She's close enough now that I can smell her breath, sour with whatever she's drank. She smells like ash and anger. "What, you think I didn't see you this morning? You think the whole world doesn't already know what you are, what you _do_? They know, Sam. They know what you are." Mom sneers. She's a vulture, looming over me, just waiting for the chance to pick my bones clean. I'm almost dead, almost. She just needs to wait. To keep squawking until I no longer twitch. "Show me." It's a wheeze of a whisper. Her fingers pluck at my shirt.

"Mom, no." I slap her hand away. "You can't do this."

"I can do whatever the fuck I like. You're my daughter, and you're mine." Her voice is growing louder, getting more hysterical. "_Show me what she did._"

I push her hands away again, almost tripping over my feet. My anger is running a race with my fear, and they're neck and neck. "Mom, sto-"

The back of her hand cracks into my face, driven with all the wiry strength she possesses. My head's wrenched to the side, breath choking in my throat, mid-word. There's a sharp twisting twinge in my cheek, followed by a hot gush of blood, heavy and metallic on my tongue. My teeth have cut the inside of my cheek open. The thought registers dully, a whisper beneath the clanging in my head. I'm dazed for a moment, stumbling back against the wall, bloody sputum on my lips. It's enough time for Mom to twist me around, bony fingers tearing at my shirt. The sound of ripping forces its way into my ears, nails scraping my shoulder. There's a pause in the assault, an intake of breath. She's seeing the marks I was so proud of; Cat's dainty handwriting. And then she's yelling at me, loud, angry words I can't make sense of yet. The heavy ring on her hand glints ruby at me. She must've cut my cheek open, too.

I try to make the world swim back into focus, to make it stay still instead of wavering. My hands are scraping on the wall, trying to find some hold as my knees tremble and fail. Mom's hand slams into my shoulder, jarring it against the wall and spinning me back towards her. My knees hit the thin carpet hard, any noise of pain spat out as blood. My arms raise protectively as her hands beat at my head, wingbeats compared to the slap she gave me. There's something angry and growling inside me, something hot and burbling. It's yowling its way ever higher until it chokes me. Every 'slut' my mother spits out, every 'whore' she calls Cat, every drunken word that burns its way out like bile. I'm trying to slow my breathing, to stop the quick sobs of breath that are fanning this flame higher. I'm trying to remember what it is Ruben said to do in situations like this, but he didn't say a fucking thing. I never told him about this, I never tell him about anything.

My eyes are shut tight, knees aching from their awkward position. I'm bowed but not yet broken. My insides are cracking and splitting, red spiderwebs of heat licking their way through me. Finally the fissures find my skull, slipping warm fingers of lava into my brain. Molten rock grips the root of my tongue, forces my jaw open, and the noise that pours out isn't me, isn't an entreaty or a challenge, it's the sound of an explosion. Of something ripping, tearing. It's the sound of my soul sundering.

I can't take it anymore. Any of it.

I'm on my feet in one raw movement, my hands gripping Mom's wrists so tight I can feel the joints and bones slip under my fingers. She lets out a grunt, her slew of slander silenced.

"_Stop it_." The words grind their way out from behind my gritted teeth, flecks of blood and spit spraying with them.

There's a curl in Mom's lips. Disdain. But I can see the fear in her eyes, fighting with the anger, the alcohol. "Get out." Her voice is calmer, lower. "Get out of here."

My hands release her wrists, arms falling limply to my sides. The fire's fading from my veins, cooling and hardening back into stone.

"I told you before, I wouldn't have a dyke under my roof."

"This dyke is your daughter." The words are broken glass in my already bleeding mouth.

"Not anymore. You were a mistake, and I'm finally correcting you. You're not my daughter. You're nothing." Mom straightens, trying to regain a semblance of dignity, but the screaming has left her voice raw and ragged. A croak in her throat. "I took care of you for all these years, I raised you. Nursed you when you were sick, and this is how you repay me? I did my best, I did all that any mother could-"

An insane urge to giggle rises in me, at the very absurdity of her statement. She didn't take care of me, she didn't raise me at all. She never cared when I was sick, it was always me nursing her, stealing cough syrup from the pharmacy and trying to heat up chicken soup on the broken stove.

"No, you didn't." It's a helpless refutation. There's no anger in my voice, just... exhaustion. I'm tired of my life, I'm tired of everything slipping through my fingers, no matter how hard I try to grip it. I'm tired of being a Puckett, and all that comes with that. I'm tired of being the shadow of my Mom, always lesser, always having to follow in her footsteps. I'm tired of her looming over me, controlling my every action when she's not even in control of her own. I'm tired of having to fit someone's mold.

Mom's arms cross, a gesture of finality. "I want you out, and I want you out now. I won't have something like you-" Her eyes skim over me like razorblades. "-under my roof."

The blood's still pooling in my mouth, heavy and metallic with every thick swallow. My teeth cut deep, but there isn't much pain. My cheek is still numb and hot. I'm trying to think of something to say, something to take the morality out of her posture, the superiority. But there's nothing. There's never been anything. Her thoughts have been mine for so long, it's hard to refute them.

My shoulders drop. "I don't need you." The words come out wet. "I don't need anyone." I swallow again, blood in the back of my throat. "You want me gone? I'm gone." There's an echo of a snarl in it, the last of the fire I can summon, before it too turns to ash. I'm gone.

I go back out the way I came, trying to convince myself that the prickling in my eyes is just from the pain, the shock of her attack. The discarded tourniquet is still in the elevator, coiled in the corner. I wish for a moment that I had a syringe, that the rubber band was gripped between my teeth, pulling it tight around my arm. I wish there was something I could inject to make everything go away. I think about it for a moment, about going to one of the dealers that lives in the building. About knocking on their door, my clothes spattered with blood from where it's drooled from my mouth, and hoping they'll take pity on me. But that's just a temporary fix. It's just a bandaid, and I've been sticking them on every problem I've ever had. Now they're getting ripped off, one by one. No, I couldn't stand being so high, so euphoric, only to have to come back to this. I wouldn't pick forgetting this for a moment, because remembering it again would only make it so much more painful.

It's cold outside, and I hug my arms to me. My knuckles throb. All of me throbs. My cheek is starting to ache. I probe the cut cautiously with my tongue. The edges are ragged, the taste of blood stronger. I grimace, spitting onto the pavement. The bleeding is stopping, gradually. I hunker down next to the entrance of the building, cold bricks at my back. There's a strange hollowness inside me. I figure it'll be like my cheek. Numb for a while, and then the pain will slowly creep in. I put a hand to my swollen cheek, fingertips brushing away some dried blood. Mom's ring. It doesn't feel like it needs stitches, not that I could afford them anyway. My hands lower to rest on my knees.

I don't know what to do.

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**A/N: Reviews are always appreciated, especially if they're just keysmashes of painful emotion. But even more so if they're words expressing things. The more reviews I get, the more likely I am to update (because I copy and paste my chapters together from reviews).**


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